


A Queen's Regrets

by OuyangDan



Series: Till the World Stops Ending [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OuyangDan/pseuds/OuyangDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What started off as a little drabble prompt on Tumblr sort of spiraled out of control and this was the result. I was asked to write a story where my Cousland, Kahrin, became queen, which I have always maintained would have been a train wreck. I was right. Some parts of this are definitely NSFW. </p><p>Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_9:31 Dragon, Amaranthine_

 

“Is this about the apostate?” Alistair’s words rose in pitch as his voice tightened. “Is that why you wanted me to spare him?”

Kahrin’s eyes widened with incredulity. “No! How could you even think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a little more bite to his words than she felt she deserved. His implications sent a chill through her, though she refused to show it on her face. “You seem in a hurry to rush me out of here. Unless it’s Oghren.”

“Unless what’s Oghren? Maker’s ass, Alistair, if you’re accusing me of something, just say it.” Her eyes flashed at him. Getting married had been a mistake. She’d known it was a mistake back in Redcliffe. She’d known it was a mistake in Denerim when they’d announced it. Once the world had stopped ending, the way she needed him had lessened in equal measure until the only person who needed anyone was him. And he leaned on her too much. In governance, and in everything they did, and now he was leaning on her in their marriage, too. For guidance, for reassurance, and for family. All of those things had changed him, subtly at first.

“We’re supposed to be making an heir.” His face looked pained as he reached for her. “I want to have a child with you.”

His hand felt hot on her arm. She swallowed, looking up at him. Part of her knew she was supposed to say it back. Deep down she knew it was a duty she’d agreed to when she’d accepted that sword from him and swore to be his wife. A very small part of her wanted to do this for him, because he wanted it so much and she still cared for him, in her way. She always would after what they’d been through together. A smaller part of her was sure it would never happen. The Taint was too strong in their blood, and she knew that he knew this fact. The rest of her wanted to refuse outright, as dangerous a declaration that would be. “I know. And we will” 

“I love you, Kahrin, but you pull away from me. It’s like you refuse to let me make you happy.”

Her face turned to the side, eyes down. “Alistair… I just…” Being a Warden-Commander was easier than being a queen. Darkspawn she knew how to handle. Fighting with her lord and husband wasn’t something she’d ever wanted, even being raised for it. “I know. Sometimes it feels like…”

“A mistake?” His brow pulled down, something sharper than hurt touching his features. Anger. His grip on her arm tightened fractionally. “You chose this. You are my queen. Husband and wife. We are married, Kahrin. That means something, and you would do well to remember it.” He let go her arm then.

“I know, Alistair.” She’d never forget. Years of teaching had ingrained it so thoroughly into her. Duty. Honor. Family. 

“Then if there isn’t someone else, what is it?” His expression hardened until he was nearly unrecognisable. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose tightly. “I have work to do. If I’m going to sort this all out, I need to get started.”

“It can wait until the morning.” She knew an order when she heard one. It still threw her, the change in him as he adjusted to the power of his station, and her breath caught in her throat.

“No! It can’t!” She winced at the sharpness of her reply, but the words flew like an arrow, irretrievable. “You don’t get to tell me how to run my order. I have a Joining to do, a prisoner to deal with, and an expedition to plan. You have to  _go_.”

His eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “All the more reason to do this now.” He stepped close to her again, and she had to stop herself from backing away. At some point he would start taking offense to that reaction. “Who knows when we’ll get another chance?” His voice softened, affection lacing his tone.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She leaned up, defeated, making herself smile for him, waiting for him to stoop down. She brushed her lips over his, then took his hand. “It’s important to you.”

“Nothing is more important to me than you, love.”

_Except an heir we can’t possibly conceive_. “I know.” She pulled him by the hand from her office, leading him towards the stairs, in the direction of her chambers. He scooped her up and carried her the last few feet, mouth claiming hers before they reached the threshold.

When they finished joining with one another, she laid awake and watched him sleep, sheet pulled around her, heart heavy with regret and worry. He looked peaceful when he slept, as if he had no worries or nightmares. As if she didn’t hurt him nearly daily with her reservations. It made him lovely. 

Once upon a time she’d fallen in love with him, even if that had waned in the months since the Blight. The humming in her blood lessened when he was near, but that comfort wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough that they should be trying to bring  _a child_  into their lives, and it wasn’t enough to hold the kingdom up between them. She wondered to herself when she’d lost what they had together, when the future they had dreamed of on the road had failed to live up to their imaginations. She couldn’t even pinpoint the place in time where she’d started angering him more than not, or when she’d started pulling away from him.

She slid out of the bed, pulled on her tunic and trousers, and quietly padded her way to her office. The bottle in her desk drawer was half gone already from frequent visits just like this. Kahrin pulled a glass from the drawer and poured herself a generous amount of drink. One deep pull later, she let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes, leaning her forehead into her hand. She could busy herself with the mountain of paperwork and preparations she had to finish. It would pass the night and keep her conscience from crushing her as she stared at the ceiling in the dark next to a man she constantly disappointed.

Alistair would forgive many things out of love for her, she knew. Duty would eventually crush them both, though, and not having an heir in place would keep the country in unrest.

Such things, she knew, were not good for the longevity of a queen. Hero or no.

“If I were your husband I think I might be insulted that my lovemaking inspired your alcoholism.”

She looked up, seeing the silhouette shadowed in the moonlight, leaning against her door. “I have trouble sleeping where His Majesty does not.” She took another long drink, turning away as Anders stepped into the room.

“If you’re not exhausted, he’s doing it wrong.” He grinned just enough for the light to catch his teeth. Even and shining in the dark. 

“That’s too personal.” She doubted he could see her glare in the light from the dying fire as she cautioned him. “You don’t know me, and I do not know you well enough to share details of my marital bed with you.”

“Don’t I?” He helped himself to her glass with a slight chuckle. “Hero of Ferelden. Slayer of dragons and kings’ hearts.” He drained her glass and set it down. “Annuler of Circles.”

She spoke softly though her words were sharp. “Those are things I have done. Not who I am.”

He shrugged. “I’m not judging. No love lost for the Circle here, sweetheart.” He nodded at her bottle and took the lid off of it to refill her glass without waiting for a response as he sat on the edge of her desk. “Excuse me, Your Majesty.” He smiled more as if he’d made a joke. “Might I add that neither of us have mentioned what a ravishingly beautiful queen you are? The coin does you little justice.”

“What do you want, Anders?”

“To cheer you up. You did me a solid. I would like to return the favor.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Her eyes turned up towards him. He cut a pretty image in the light. Blond hair, longer than she usually preferred it but neatly bound. Idly in the back of her mind she wondered if he’d survive the Joining. This would be her first one since her own, a thought which twisted her gut. “You don’t owe me anything for that.”

He lifted the glass in salute. “Even if you slit my throat tomorrow, I die a free mage. To you, and your magnanimous grace.” The grin on his face belied the attempt at seriousness he laid into the sentiment.

“You should thank my lord husband, actually.”  _Slitting his throat might be kinder_ , she thought as she took another long drink. She closed her eyes against an image of Daveth, on the ground, writhing as the Taint took him. “It would be a shame to waste that smart mouth of yours.”

“It was your idea.” His eyes danced a little. “Also, you’d hardly be the first to say so.” He chuckled a little and pressed the glass into her hand. “Would you like to?”

She blinked up at him, eyes finally adjusting to the light. “Pardon?”

His lips twitched upward. “Know what a shame wasting my mouth would be.” He leaned towards her a little, smiling a bit more. 

Something in her stomach flipped over. She took a drink from the glass and set it down. “Anders, I’m married. To the King, I might remind you.” Her tone matched the hardness on her face.

“I know. Pity, really.” He took the glass, swallowing one more sip, and set it out of her reach. “If you were happy, I wouldn’t bother.”

“You’re… stop that.” The warning in her voice faltered.

“Stop what?” He swung his legs around to face her, sitting up a little straighter. “We’re just talking.”

“Then why do I feel as though you are coming onto me?”

He reached out and touched her chin with his thumb. “Wishful thinking?”

“I am not.” She didn’t move out of his reach. Her heart picked up a little when it made contact.

“Who said it was  _your_  wishful thinking? You really are unhappy.” His brow pulled down a little as he smoothed a finger over the crease in her brow. “Your face is going to crease like that.”

“I’m happy enough. There is great pleasure to be found in duty.” Duty. What had duty brought her? She was so tired of  _duty_  she was looking forward to chasing down darkspawn more than trying to conceive with her husband. Her eyes closed as she leaned into his touch. 

“You say that as if you’ve rehearsed it to exhaustion.” His fingers grazed up her cheek, cupping her jaw. “What we are told is for the best isn’t always.” He leaned forward. “Tell me to go. No hard feelings.” 

Her breath hitched when a cool feeling tingled into her skin under his fingers. The taste of copper pricked at her tongue as the feeling of magic prickled at her skin. She’d trained as a templar, and she was more sensitive to it as a result. It sent a shiver down her from point of contact past her belly, making her breath quicken. “I should tell you to go.” She swallowed, leaning up towards him. “This would hurt him.”

“I’m not thinking of him.” The grin touched his face again. “Pretty. But not my type. Way too chantry-fed for my taste.”

“I’m being serious.” She almost pulled away.

“So am I. Those mage-kicking tendencies die hard.”

She could have laughed. It would have eased the tension. She could have spoken in her husband’s defense, that he was far too kind for that. But she didn’t. Instead, her fingers trailed up, pushing into his hair at the base of his neck a little. “I want to take this down. Dig my fingers into it. May I?”

He grinned, and she could almost hear him crowing in his mind. “As Her Majesty wishes. Pull it if you like.” His mouth was only a scant inch from hers. She could feel his breath on her face as she slid the leather band out of his hair, letting it spill.

She narrowed her eyes at him. When he didn’t close the distance between them, she did. Her fingers buried into the silky strands of his hair as she met his mouth, hard and desperate. He returned it in equal measure, as if all that time he’d spent running away had left him thirsty. She made an almost startled sound as his arms circled under her thighs and scooped her up. Her legs wrapped around his hips just heartbeats before her back met the wall hard enough to make her grunt.

“I’m going to undress you.” 

“Please,” she gasped into his mouth. Oh, Maker, the ways in which this was stupid. She didn’t know him. He was also a mage from the very Circle she’d annulled. She’d spared his life today, but so had Alistair. This was how they thanked him? With infidelity and what could arguably be treason?

She pushed Alistair, with all his responsibilities and pressures which he laid upon her, from her mind, and mewled into Anders’ kiss as his hands unlaced her trousers and pushed them over the rise of her rear. She lowered one leg and then the other to get them off while her hands fumbled with his robes, gathering them up in her fists until she could feel the heat of his skin against hers. 

“Are you sure? We can still stop.” He leaned back enough to look in her eyes, his grin wide but his eyes soft as he stroked a finger along the tattoo arcing over her cheek and around her eye.

“If you ask me again I might change my mind.” She crushed her mouth against his as her fingers found his length. He groaned just enough to be satisfying to her when she gripped him, fingers pulsing. “And I really don’t want to change my mind.”

He lined himself up with her, never taking his eyes from hers, and buried himself to the hilt in one motion. She trembled, pulling and hugging his head against her shoulder as she stretched and gripped around him with a soft cry. She didn’t let herself think about her husband’s seed still being inside of her. She’d never done anything like this before, never betrayed a man’s heart, and never bedded one so close to the other. She didn’t want to think about how wrong it was, instead focusing on how damned good it felt, and how for the first time in months she felt alive and not as if she were merely existing. All before he started moving.

He thrust, pushing her back against the wall harder. Strands of her hair snagged on the stones as she tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling. She rocked against him, trying to match his pace, then curled forward, crying with her mouth at his ear. Her fingers wound into his hair and yanked as her body twitched, the moan he let pleasing her down low in her belly. 

Anders braced an arm on the wall near her head, the other holding her tightly to him as he moved, each upward motion of his hips punctuated with a low, guttural, sound. He pulled his head back enough to keep his eyes on hers, heated in the low firelight. 

She braced a hand behind her own head, using it both for leverage to push back against him and to keep her head from knocking against the stone wall. His mouth sought her breast through the fabric of her shirt, and she jerked sharply in response. He slid a hand between them, seeking her center, strumming a quick, relentless, circle around her bud of nerves. She yelped, remembering too late to muffle it against his shoulder. Her stomach wound as all the muscles tugged downward and her back pulled tightly. She was there, so close, pressing her lips together and willing her mouth to not scream out his name.

A shock made her eyes widen, sparks skipping from his hand at their point of union up her exposed belly. She shrieked, burying her face into his neck and biting softly. Another small burst of magic, making her tongue smack the roof of her mouth and her whole body shake.

“Oh, Maker. Anders,” her voice strained into his neck. She gasped, all the tension winding to a snapping point.

“Come for me.” 

It was almost an order. She was a commander of the Grey Wardens, Hero of Fereldan, and queen. She didn’t take orders, she gave them, but as soon as he growled the words, her pulse leapt and she sucked in a breath, holding it until the snaps of lightning on her skin combined with his deep, harsh, movements made her unfurl. 

“Let it out.” He jerked his hips up with force. 

She shattered, letting out her breath explosively just a moment before she sunk her teeth into the join of his neck and shoulder, screaming against his skin. 

He groaned, low and rumbling from his chest. She felt him pulse, all her muscles tight around him, and bared down, grinding her hips to his as he spilled. He shuddered, lurching towards the wall, pinning her there under his weight as he moved through his climax.

Kahrin held to him, shaking, half with the aftermath and half with disbelief at what she’d just done. Maker forgive her, she’d violated her marriage bed, and she wasn’t even sorry. The fingers she’d tangled in his hair yanked him back so she could kiss him again.

“Can you stand?” he asked with a strain in his voice. 

She shook her head, not trusting her legs or her words. 

The grin was there in the low sound he made when his arms pulled her against him. He moved to the window ledge behind her desk and pulled her tunic under her bottom as he seated her there. He pulled out of her with a soft groan, making her shudder and whimper, fingers clutching to the front of his robes.

Kahrin stared up at him, more than a little stunned, her jaw trembling.

“Are you alright?” he asked with a hint of tenderness in his voice which was absent moments earlier. He brushed the pads of his fingers over her lips.

Was she? She didn’t know. How did one count sins? She’d never been religious, but she was sure that what she’d just done was possibly a crime against the Maker himself as well as her husband. Still, she nodded, trying to catch her breath. “I’m wonderful,” she lied.

“I almost believe that.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face so he caught only her cheek. 

“I am. I will be. I… enjoyed that. Especially the magic.”

“I know.” His mouth sought her neck, grazing his teeth over her skin and making her shiver. “It was pretty obvious when you yelled my name.”

The door was open. How had she not noticed that the door was open? “I have to get back.” Her fingers fisted in his hair even then, not wanting to let go.

“I know that, too.” He helped her to the floor, supporting her weight until they were both satisfied she could stand. “I don’t regret this. I don’t want you to, either.”

Kahrin found her trousers and pulled them on over her still-shaking legs. “I should.” She looked at him, panic she wasn’t sure he could see on her face. “But I don’t.” It was one of the first genuinely true things she’d said in some time. Tying the laces, she turned her back towards him while he smoothed his robes back in place. “I’m tired.”

“Good. On both counts.” Anders slid an arm around her shoulders from behind, leaning over to kiss her neck softly. “Sleep well, Your Majesty.”

Kahrin straightened her back, her face hot. “You should, also. Big day for you, tomorrow.” Andraste preserve her, she hoped he lived. If he didn’t, it would be her fault for damning him. 

“You make it sound so ominous.”

She closed her eyes and disentangled herself from him. “Thank you. For… well.” Her legs twitched, wanting her to move closer to him, her lips wanting to meet his again. “Good night, Anders.”

“Good night, my queen,” he said with a good measure of cheek. 

She tensed for just a moment at the doorway, wanting to look back at him. She didn’t. Instead, she hurried on shaking legs back to her bed, peeling out of her clothes before climbing into her bed and burrowing under the blankets beside her husband.

Alistair rolled over and wrapped his arms around her without waking, the warmth of his body welcomed against her skin, still damp with sweat and chilled from her walk back.

She stared at the canopy, not falling asleep until sunlight started to peek in through the shutters.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_9:31 Dragon, somewhere near the Blackmarsh_

 

The fire rose between them. Kahrin positioned herself as far away from the other Wardens as she was able, and kept her own counsel while they set up the camp for the night. She spent a little time discussing their course for the next day with Velanna, who knew the woods better than even Nathaniel. Velanna advised a more circuitous path, which would take an extra day, though it would safely keep them clear of the nearest Dalish clan. Kahrin thanked her without looking up and turned to cleaning her gear. She worked powder into the blades of her swords, slender fingers rubbing cloth into the small crevices, letting her attention focus on the task of getting tainted blood out of her gear and not the people chattering around her.

The smell of dinner cooking over the fire turned her stomach, and she took a deep breath to let the wave of sickness pass. Camp food was going to be her undoing one day. After the Blight she thought she could stomach anything, but these weeks on the roads in Amaranthine seemed to mock that idea and her guts. Even if Nathaniel was far better a chef than Alistair, the evening’s stew was doing her no favors. 

Velanna bickered with Nathaniel over the tea. Or that was all she caught of the conversation, mostly the Dalish woman’s side of it. Kahrin yawned, rolling her neck against an ache from what had to be an injury she didn’t recognise or remember getting. She hissed a little, rubbing at it, as Anders sat lightly on the log beside her.

“Here.” He held a cup to her, receiving a displeased look.

“What is this?”

“Tea. You look ill.” His face pulled with poorly concealed concern.

Kahrin took a deep breath, the words to tell him to leave her be on her tongue then dying with the pressure of his arm to hers. The first time had been a mistake, a miscalculation she should have avoided. She’d been tired and angry from fighting with Alistair and had let herself bury that in an indiscretion.

Every time since, though, she didn’t have those same excuses. Every time it happened, she swore both silently to herself and out loud to him that it was their last. Every time she sought him out again, or found contrived ways for him to find her conveniently alone. Soon her mistake had become an affair she couldn’t deny to herself. It escalated until he occupied her thoughts to distraction.

“It is not your place to worry for me. You presume too much, Anders,” she whispered when she thought no one would hear them over the fire. Or Velanna giving Nathaniel a lesson in manners. 

“I know. Occupational hazard.” He winked at her and pressed the cup into her hand, letting his fingers linger too long on hers. “The plight of a healer. Always caring too much.”

“You do care too much. You are too personal in this matter.” The face she wore as queen froze her features while she tried to make the words _we have to stop_  audible, but he chuckled silently in return.

“Perhaps. All in service to Her Majesty.” He stood, eyes lingering on hers for a moment. “There are a few things I’d like to find in the woods before it gets too dark.” He didn’t need to give her a significant look to imply his meaning. He did anyhow, and it heated her cheeks. 

Her eyes followed him as he stepped lightly over fallen leaves into the thick of trees.  _Let him go_ , she scolded herself and inhaled the steam of her tea. It smelled strong, too strong, but she took a sip anyhow, spitting it out hard and swearing. The cup she balanced on the log as she stood slowly, biting back a sickly sweet taste in her mouth.

This was a terrible idea and she knew it. Mostly they managed to keep themselves out of sight. Her room in the very late hours of the night when hardly anyone stirred. Stolen moments on watches together. A brush of fingers here or there, or the privacy of a healer checking a patient for wounds, touches to her skin lingering longer than necessary. 

There was guilt in spades, clouding her thoughts when she lay awake at night, waiting for sleep. She was Alistair’s best friend, and his queen by law before the Maker. Her life was bound to his and she’d sworn him oathes then selfishly shattered them for her own comfort. Louder in her mind than the guilt, though, was a measure of happiness. That alone should have been enough to convince her to end the affair. She had no right to seek happiness outside of her marriage, not by law nor personal rules of conduct which had been her earliest education. Still, she watched the place where Anders had disappeared into the trees, and moved to follow him.

“What are you doing?” The familiar gravel of Nathaniel’s voice pulled her to reality once more. 

“Going for a walk.” It was a terrible lie.

The dark look on his face told her as much. “Precisely.” He pulled her by the arm to the cover of a large tree out of earshot. “If you believe you are being discreet, you are tragically more foolish than I ever imagined.”

She twisted her arm out of his firm grip, glaring up into his eyes and hissing as it pinched her skin in her blues. “Mind yourself, Howe.”

He put himself in front of her as she moved to circle around him. “I have known you a long time, and I know what you are doing. I am begging you, as your friend, to stop before you get in over your head.”

“I know what I am doing, Nathaniel.” Breaths drew in sharply through her nose and disappeared as fog into the air between them. “I do not recall asking for your opinion.” Betrayals which had festered between them seemed to resolve over the weeks passed, still he woke aggravation in her more than she thought he should have. She frowned. “Now step aside and let me pass. My business is my own.”

“You think so, but it is not.” His eyes narrowed. “If it pleases Your Majesty, might I offer some advice as someone who cares for you?”

She barked a laugh, eyes rolling skyward. “Someone who cares for me?”

If her words hurt him, he hid it behind steel in his eyes. “As long as I have known you.”

“And you would what? Protect me from myself?”

He inclined his head. “If I must. That is all I have ever tried to do, Kahrin.”

It was true. She knew it was true. He’d always tried to shield her from harm as children, and had not balked at coming to her aid when they’d found themselves in a bind together. Still, irritation prickled up in her and she lifted her chin haughtily. “As I recall, you’ve done a rather poor job of it in the past. Forgive me if I am disinclined to listen to you now.”

Something ghosted over his face. Pain? Disappointment? She wasn’t sure, and she was surprised to find she didn’t care. “Fine. Do as you please, _Your Majesty_. Far be it for me to stand in the way of the Queen of Ferelden.”

Her face fell just a little. “If you want to help, don’t boil the tea so long next time. Unless you’re trying to make my physically ill.”

“As you wish,” he said quietly with a twitch of his lips. He turned back to the fire, glancing at her as she pressed further into the trees.

It didn’t take her long to find him. It wasn’t so dark that she couldn’t see the path in front of her, and the moon dappled enough light on the ground besides. He smiled when she rounded a large oak, his hands resting on her hips and dipping his head down to meet her mouth. “I didn’t think you’d follow.”

“I shouldn’t have. We have to stop this,” she whispered with rough breath against his lips. 

“If you want to stop, I understand.” His fingers padded lightly over her jaw.

“I don’t.” She frowned up at him, leaning into the touch. “Maker forgive me, I don’t.”

“Good,” he said quietly. “I don’t either.” He kissed her again, lingeringly, his other hand putting pressure on the plane of her back. “You’ll have to go back to court soon enough.”

He was right, and while she was glad for it, glad to put distance between them and force herself by circumstance to do what rational thought could not, it pained her. “Howe knows.”

“So?” His flippancy was so infuriating at times. “Is he going to tattle on us?”

“I’m serious, Anders. This is getting dangerous.”

He laughed. “Darling, we fight darkspawn. We actively seek them out and pick fights professionally, and you think this is dangerous?”

She tried to fight the smile on her lips. “Point well made, ser, but I think you are underestimating how bad this could turn, fast.”

He pressed his weight against her, pinning her to the tree and making her breath catch. “Nate isn’t going to tell a soul. That dour bastard cares about you too much.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you are going about it strangely.” His thigh pressed between hers and she returned the pressure.

Anders shrugged, his laconic chuckle the only response before he let his fingers curl over the waist of her trousers. 

The very thought of Alistair’s wrath if he found out tightened her chest, intensifying the nausea she already felt. “Either way we risk too much.” Her eyes fluttered closed as his fingers found skin, her own fingers curling into the fabric of his own blues. 

“We’ll be alright,” he whispered. “I’m good at getting in and out of tight spaces.”

“This isn’t a joke, Anders.” She stopped thoughts of harm coming to him because of her before they could take over her mind. 

“I realise this is a very grave situation, Your Majesty.”

“Then why are you joking?”

“Because I like your laugh. I’m a funny man.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

His years showed finally as he looked at her more soberly. “What happens if we stop now?”

Unease iced her chest. The more she fought it the more he crossed her mind. The longer she let this go on, the more entangled they became, and the more the threat they’d be caught grew. But the idea of walking away from him now hurt more than any realisation of any fear she tried to impress upon him. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t stop now.”

“Then don’t.” His hand slipped into her smalls and she didn’t have any more arguments as she hooked a leg over his hip.

 

#

 

_9:31 Dragon, Vigil’s Keep, Amaranthine_

 

“Is it the practice of shemlen to poke their overly-large noses into things that do not concern them?” Velanna didn’t look up from the robes she was mending. If anyone could mend angrily it was Velanna. She jammed the needle through the fabric and yanked the thread like she was dueling. Her dueling was less terrifying in Nathaniel’s opinion.

“This does concern me.” 

“Why? Because one time long ago you were friends?”

“That is not a condition which necessitates the use of past tense. I am concerned for my Commander and for my Queen.”

“Who is clearly incapable of making decisions for herself. I see.” He didn’t miss the sarcasm in her retort.

“You do not understand that which you are judging.”

She set her sewing aside and regarded him, her green eyes intense upon him and her mouth pulled down into a deep frown. “I understand too well when someone meddles in your life because they think you cannot manage it properly yourself.”

“You can not possibly think this is the same thing.”

“Can’t I?” Her arms crossed over her chest, her posture growing more rigid. “Now you’ll tell me what I can and can not think? Is that it?”

“Velanna you know that is not what I am saying.” They did their own dance, but no matter how he tried with her, he never figured out the steps. Either that or she kept changing them intentionally.

“No. I don’t. Tell me, Nathaniel, what are you saying? Since I am clearly so confused. Because it sounds like the same shemlen line to me.”

Somewhere Nathaniel had lost his footing and he realised it too late, holding both hands up in a placating gesture. “I have known her since we were children. She has always been like this.”

One perfect, blonde, eyebrow lifted on her forehead, slightly shifting the lines of her  _vallaslin_. “Then nothing you do now is going to change that.”

“She is making a mistake. A grave one.”

“And it is hers to make.” She stood, scooping her sewing in one hand with grace at odds with the icy clip in her words. “Your interference will do nothing but anger her, and if it were up to me, I prefer to not be lead by an angry woman.” 

“I should not have expected you to understand.” He looked at the stairs leading up towards the living quarters. He sighed, his posture softening though not slacking. “And I do not wish to incite your irritation.”

“Stay out of it, Nathaniel. If she wanted your help she’d have asked for it.” She didn’t look at him, and didn’t remark upon the second part of his statement.

“No, she would not. She has made that abundantly clear.”

Velanna rolled her eyes. “Again we have managed an entire conversation without you listening to a thing I have said.” She waved a hand, rolling a fist, and lifted it in a swift motion. The floor shook as a vine shot out between cracks in the flagstones, winding around Nathaniel’s leg and lifting him off the ground. He shouted as the room flipped upside-down and he dangled from near the ceiling.

“Velanna, this is not amusing.”

“There you go again,” she said with a lift of her shoulders. “Telling me what I think.” She walked up the stairs without looking back.

Nathaniel swore, watching her go as the blood pounded in his ears.

“Language!” Sigrun looked up at him, grinning to split her face and locking her fingers behind her head.

“Sigrun,” Nate started, wiggling and trying to turn to face her. “Help me down.”

She tapped her chin in thought. “Hmm. I’m willing to open negotiations.”

“Negotiations? You can not be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.” She nodded to emphasise that fact, her grin turning a little mischievous. “Tell me, Nathaniel,  who is your favorite dwarf?”

He glared at her. “I hate you.”

“See, that’s not going to help.” She laughed.

He sighed. “You are.”

“Hey! That was almost convincing. Now,” she laughed a little helplessly, “who do you love?” She drew the last syllable out long and hopped from foot to foot.

 

#

 

 

“You should let me look at that,” Anders said quietly. He touched a gash on Kahrin’s forehead gingerly, though she still winced. “Let me fix it up?”

She pushed his hand away, gently. “I have to get started on the reports. There’s going to be a lot of questions.” She swallowed, meeting his eyes. “And I expect His Majesty.”

He masked a frown, disguising it as concern for her wound, and wiped a bit of hair from her damp temple. “But not this minute. You have time for healing. You still aren’t feeling well.” He leaned his head closer, taking advantage of the empty infirmary to brush his nose along her jaw, inhaling as he reached  her ear. “And I think I deserve a good-bye, don’t you?”

“Alright,” she said quietly, not pulling away as he channeled magic from the air around them and began mending her forehead. “And I’m fine. Food on the road doesn’t sit with me like it used to.” She closed her eyes as healing magic prickled her skin and pulled at her flesh, the taste of wet dirt struck by lightning on her tongue. The hint of smile that turned up her lips couldn’t be helped. “Too accustomed to all that pretentious court food.” 

That tightening in her chest stopped her breath again. The thrum in her veins burned. All she could think about were the fingers barely touching her. The flip of her stomach might have been from her head wound. It might also have been the way he said  _good-bye_. Like he knew what she refused to say aloud. 

“Will you be returning from Denerim, Majesty?” He grinned against the space behind her ear through the last word. 

She tilted her head aside for him as her forehead knit closed. “Lock the door,” she said quietly through hitched breath.

“That wasn’t an answer.” His fingers tightened on her back.

She caught his mouth, her lips hungry for him. “It’s the only one you get until that door is secured.”

He drew both hands slowly up her legs, thumbs working circles on the insides of her thighs as he did. A wolfish grin drew slowly across his face. “Her Majesty drives a hard bargain.”

She lidded her eyes while he made a point of dragging his fingers tightly down her legs until he couldn’t reach, then walked to the door far more calmly than she thought he should have. She watched him, her expression soft and sad.

It was unlikely she would be returning. The letters she’d received from Alistair while he traveled the bannorn expressed how vexed he was for them to be apart, and how eager he was to continue working towards their future. How the entirety of the bannorn asked him how the queen fared and if she was yet with child.

Oghren, Sigrun, and Nathaniel would run things in her absence. A fact she had not yet shared.

He latched the door and turned back to face her, the smile on his face a little too forced. “You’re not coming back.”

The fires in the infirmary were stoked to an almost suffocating heat, and the air was heavy with the smell of various tinctures and potions he was preparing. Kahrin closed her eyes for a moment, memorising how it smelled and felt, and the sounds of his feet as he closed the distance between them. She shook her head nearly imperceptibly just as she felt his hands rest on her legs again. As if his misunderstanding would change the fact that she would be leaving on the morrow with her husband. Her throat closed with something she hadn’t felt in a long time, and she struggled to breathe over the lump that formed.

It was better this way, though. The sooner she was forced away the sooner they could go on with their lives.

“Then this is going to have to count.” He smoothed a hand up her stomach, pausing just a moment over the muscles there and sucking in a sharp breath when they tightened, before leaning her back on the table. He propped himself up, leaning his weight against one forearm, looking down at her, his shining amber brown eyes swimming with something she felt keenly. “I’ll miss you bossing us all around.” He tried to wear that smugness she knew so well, but it faltered. 

“Anders,” she started quietly. “I just want you to know--”

He laid a finger over her lips and shook his head, making a shushing sound. “It’s probably better if no one says that.”

The hair’s on her neck stood up. Her brow pulled down in the middle and she frowned, wanting to snap at him, to tell him not to presume to tell her what she thought or what to say. Her mouth opened to say as much, but he cut her off with a kiss, making her eyes sting with tears she didn’t want to spill.

He was right.

A pounding knock at the door startled her, and Anders jerked, sliding off of her and straightening his robes before she regained her breath.

“Commander,” the voice was low and familiar. “A boy from one of the nearby holdings has arrived at the gates with news the King’s retinue approaches.”

Kahrin looked to Anders, then to the door, never more grateful for Nathaniel’s nosiness than in that moment. She smoothed her hair and tunic, and opened the door, meeting his stormy eyes. “Thank you, Howe.” She swallowed at his knowing expression. “Give the boy a coin for the news and tell the other Wardens to be clean and assembled when my husband His Majesty arrives.”

“As you wish, Kahrin,” he said softly. With a subtle inclination of his head, he turned to carry out his orders.

Anders’ hand touched her back lightly. “Kahrin. I need to tell you something before you leave. It’s important.”

She turned to smile at him, fighting the palpable sadness which threatened to overwhelm her. “It’s better if neither of us says it.” She stepped away from his touch, hardening her face and soul for what she knew she had to do. “I have to prepare for the King. He’ll want to see me right away.”

Before he could respond again, she slipped out the door and made haste for the Keep, guards and Wardens parting a path through the chaos to make way for the queen.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

When he’d first been crowned, Alistair not only resisted the pomp, but seemed uncomfortable around it. The world Kahrin was born and raised in made her invaluable to him early on. With a gentle but firm hand she guided him through the ceremony of his new life. She played the part of flawless consort, smiling and curtsying and using every last ounce of her mother’s teachings and reputation to navigate life at court after the Blight. Being the Hero of Ferelden didn’t hurt, either. By the time the they wed, he was better accustomed to the fuss, and by the time they’d laid a crown upon her own head, he’d assimilated completely, no longer afraid to make demands and expect his whims carried out. Especially when it came to his wife.

He wasn’t cruel by any stretch of the imagination, but he had learned expectations. Those expectations included a proper greeting by the Wardens and others of Vigil’s Keep, and that expectation certainly extended to his wife.

She didn’t like crowns. They sat funnily on her head, even when her hair was braided to accommodate them, and the weight was more than physical. It was a reminder of the burden she shouldered and the ways she failed to her husband, her country, and the Maker himself. That failure came in the form of things that were both her fault and beyond her control. Still she wore it, knowing it would please him, and trussed herself up in a dress fit for a Fereldan warrior queen. Functionally warm and accented with enough armour to remind anyone who saw her of who she was. This included, to her current silent despair, herself.

The rain had subsided long enough for the royal party to enter the courtyard without making a muck out of the dirt. Alistair had, after many lessons, mastered not only horseback riding, but dismounting without falling on his face. Something he did now, looking beyond pleased with his own grace, before approaching the line of Wardens she’d assembled to greet him, all polished to perfection in their uniforms.

Kahrin curtsied deeply with well-practiced, elegant ease, her eyes cast down in a way that was only for these sorts of public spectacles. “Majesty,” she murmured, holding the position as if her own guilt were physically manifested as a cloak on her shoulders. 

Alistair beamed, his joy uncontainable. “Come here, my love.” He held a hand out to her, and she took it with light fingers, as if dancing, before she rose and went to his arms. “Thank the Maker you are alive and unharmed.” He held her tightly against his chest and kissed her brow, letting his lips linger as he shuddered a breath. “My indestructible goddess.”

She wrapped her arms around him and breathed deeply, trying to replace the smells of tinctures and spearmint oil with armour polish and soap in her mind. “It makes my heart glad to see you, as well.” She waited until he released her, and took his hands, looking up to meet his eyes. “I am sure you’ll find all the reports in order. If it pleases Your Majesty, we may retire to my office to go over them.”

He smiled down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He was younger than her, but he looked older, then, as if the months had been years under his crown. “That can wait. I didn’t come all the way here to read reports. I trust you. I came to be with my wife.”

Her stomach ached, making a sickly sweet taste in her mouth which pulled sharply from behind her jaw, but she nodded with a broad smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

Engulfing her hand in both of his, he grinned. “Right now.” He raised his voice to be heard, inclining his head to Seneschal Varel. “We’ll take dinner in Her Majesty’s room. We are not to be disturbed for anything short of an emergency.” He pressed his lips to her knuckles, his eyes closing for the space of three pounding heartbeats before he lead the way into the Keep.

She waited by the door when they reached her rooms, fingers winding into the fabric of her dress as she watched him. He paced as he undid his gloves and cuirass, placing things neatly on the armour stand. His eyes danced as he turned towards her. “My Queen.” He laughed from his belly as if he still couldn’t believe it. “I never get tired of saying that.” 

The lightness in his voice tore at her heart. She dipped low again, holding the pose with her skirts between her hands and eyes down. “Your Majesty.” She held her breath to stop the nauseous feeling and the trembling she couldn’t explain as anything but shame. The worst of it was that she wasn’t sorry or shameful she’d done it. She wished she was elsewhere now, with Anders, and she bit the inside of her mouth to stop the way that made her ill.

Two long strides to close the space and Alistair turned her chin up with a single finger. “Relax, love. This is a good night. We’re reunited. Everything’s right again.” He pulled her by the hands, leading her towards the bedroom. “Or will be, really soon.” His smile turned a little impish as he chuckled low.

Gulping down air like it was courage, she found a smile for him, and let his hands ease her buckles open and armour and clothes off. Maybe it should have bothered her, how easily she fell into the motions. Alistair was a well-worn glove or old habit. She didn’t let worry in, and pushed it from her mind. The sooner she let go of Anders, the better off -- and safer -- they would both be.

By the time she shuddered and slacked, sweat soaked and curled against Alistair, she’d convinced herself that she could put the affair behind her. By the time Alistair had dozed into slumber, however, she’d counted the replications of the pattern on the canopy by candlelight. Sleep was not to come to her. 

Carefully, she unwound herself from his limbs and slipped into a dressing gown. The stones were icy under her bare feet as she padded her way to her office, leaving the door ajar, and taking out her bottle and glass from her desk drawer. The foul stench filled her nose as soon as she uncorked it, and panting heavily, she leaned over and retched into the rubbish bin. She lost track of how long her eyes stayed trained on the door, but when sun peeked in through the shutters, she wiped them and took herself back to her bed. And her husband. 

Morning came in full force, with the power of nerves making her stomach unreliable and too much business to conduct to have time to deal with it. There were papers to sign and seal with her signet, turning over control of the arling and the order to the Wardens she would leave behind. As the hours of the morning waned her chest tightened more, the dread she felt making her turn her breakfast back untouched, and refusing lunch at the first smell.

The last of the correspondence sanded and sealed, she leaned her head into her hands, digging fingers into her sweaty hair, only noticing she was shaking after the steward took the tray away. When the door closed, she opened her desk drawer and reached for the bottle.

Which was gone.

In its place she found a smooth, unmarked box. Blinking at it a few times she set it in front of her, tapping her fingers on the lid. It could be anything. A poison or some kind of rigged device to explode when she opened it. But who would do that here? She slid the top out of place, finding a small vial and rolled up scrap of parchment.

She broke the wax and opened it. The script was tight, painfully neat and even, and recognisable immediately. 

_I beg you to cease your drinking habits before you hurt yourself. If you wish to end this, you will remember that there are gentler ways. Always your humble servant._

She frowned, curling her fingers around the vial, holding it in front of her eyes for a long time, listening to the fire crackle. She pulled the cork. Waving her hand, she wafted it towards her nose, not inhaling, though the stringent odor filled her nose all the same. Her eyes widened with recognition of the contents. Her mind fled back to years ago, rain pelting the ground as she watched Nathaniel’s back, her best friend leaving the Keep after pressing a similar vial into her hand in secret. His final gesture to her before being sent away one of saving grace, a way out of a terrifying situation.

But this wasn’t the same. She was  _not with child_. He was mistaken. She was a warrior, seasoned and sure of her body. She had to listen to it in battle and that meant knowing it as well as the forms of her swords. She would certainly know if she had conceived. A gnawing uncertainty pinched her gut, but she refused to give it light of thought. There was no way under the Maker that she could have become pregnant with the child of a man who was not her husband. Nathaniel was wrong. And presumptuous. She gritted her teeth, staring at the vial in the lined box as if it would bite her.

Wrong.

Lifting her chin as she stood, she dumped the entirety of the package into the fire and stoked it with the poker.

He wasn’t difficult to find. That damnable bear of his occupied as much of his attention as anything, and sure enough Kahrin found Nathaniel at the edge of the pond, watching Deux swipe fish. He heard her coming long before he acknowledged it, the nearly imperceptible jerk of  his posture told her as much. She stood, in her traveling clothes, arms crossed over her chest, face stern.

She didn’t wait for him to turn around. “How dare you, Nathaniel Howe. How very dare you.”

He turned, the frown tightening what were normally handsome features. “Kahrin.”

“It’s Commander, or Your Majesty.” She lifted her chin and shoulders, her rage making her feel larger than she was. 

Steel grey eyes narrowed, though he didn’t frown. “Your Majesty. I am offering nothing more than I have in the past.” His words carried on the breeze to her, despite how quietly he spoke them. “As your friend.”

“My friend would not make assumptions. He would trust that I am capable of managing my own af--” She stopped herself, took a breath, and backed up. “Business.”

“Do not be stubborn, which I realise is a tall request for you. You’ve been sick for weeks.”

“I would know.” She stared at him in disbelief but spoke as if there were no doubt. “I remember what it feels like. I would know.”

He stepped towards her, one hand reaching out. “Maybe, now just maybe, Kahrin, you have had a lot on your mind and have not noticed.”

Eyes wide, she stepped back in equal measure. “Do not touch me. I will scream and the King will not take kindly, Nathaniel.” Her jaw trembled, denial and sheer will all that remained for her to hold onto. “You are wrong.” She bit her lip hard, blinking back tears she told herself the wind had stung into her eyes. “Were I with child the King and I would celebrate. I would have no need of potions from sellers of  _leeches_.”

His expression turned sorrowful, but he nodded. “Of course, Kahrin. It would be a happy occasion for all of us.”

“Yes. Well, remember that.” Her posture straightened as if her spine had turned to veridium. “Now I am leaving this arling in your capable hands.” Her chin trembled. “I know you won’t let me down.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said somberly. “I will strive to do as well as you would yourself.”

“You always do,” she whispered. Her body flinched forward as if to move towards him, but she turned on her heel and strode to the courtyard.

 

#

 

“Now, you call ol’ Oghren when this goes in the chamber pot, eh Warden?” Oghren clapped her on the shoulder and guffawed. 

She smiled, amused. “I’m the Queen, Oghren. You’re not allowed to hit on me anymore. This ship has sailed.” She made a wavy motion through the air between them.

He laughed. “Yer not  _my_  Queen.” He winked in that outrageous way he had that made him tolerable, and even endeared him to her.

“Take care of things, and help Nathaniel.”

“That little Blighter needs me. You were right to put me in charge,” he joked. He stretched up tall and patted himself on the chest.

“I know.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I will write.”

“I know. Can’t stay away from my charms.”

“I’ll be sure to keep his charms in line, Commander.” Sigrun whispered conspiratorially, but winked, giving Kahrin a sense of ease that she was leaving her command in good hands.

Stopping in front of Nathaniel, she gave him nothing more than a nod, which he returned. Anything more would have been too much, and he knew that. They’d said enough goodbyes to one another for several lifetimes; there was little reason for another.

She glanced at Anders, who was doing his best to not look at her, hands folded neatly behind his back, feathers on his blues flipping in the wind. He met her eyes, briefly, and she worked her mouth to make any words happen. Alistair grasped her around the shoulders, breaking the moment and sparing her the need to decide what to say. “It’s time to go, love. You’ve left everything set up the best you can. You trained them. Now let them do what you taught them.”

“I’m just proud of them.” She followed him to the horses, feeling queasy again, but choking it down. She was good at being a Warden-Commander. She hated to leave it behind, everything else aside.

“Commander.” She froze, mid-stride. “Your Majesty,” Anders said a little louder. “A moment.”

She felt blood drain from her face as she turned. If he made a scene now she’d never be able to smooth it. She sucked down a breath, lifting her chin. They hadn’t even spoken since Alistair had arrived, and she’d accepted that. It had been her assumption he had, too. “Anders.”

He pressed a parcel into her hands. “For the nausea. Enough to get you to the palace. I’m sure the King’s physician can get you more.” He lowered his voice. “If not, you write to me straight away.”

She blinked, pulling the cloth open and examining the paquet of herbs. “What is…”

“Peppermint, mostly. And a few other things to replenish nutrients.” He swallowed and quickly continued, as if the momentum of his words depended on how fast he got them out. “For the baby.”

Stunned, all she could do was stare.

“What?” Alistair wrapped an arm around her shoulders protectively. “What are you saying? Kahrin?” He turned his eyes to her, demanding an explanation, but she had no words. “Baby? You mean… you’re…” The slow dawning clicked gradually over his face until his eyebrows shot high.

Anders nodded quickly, as if convincing himself. “It’s likely she hasn’t even noticed. I delivered a lot of babies in the Circle. I should have mentioned it sooner.” His face drew into the mask he used when patching up the soldiers. Stoic. A chirurgeon’s face. 

“Yes,” she murmured. “You should have.” Her eyes focused on nothing a thousand paces away. Her hands tremored and she closed them into tight fists around the tea mixture to try to hide it. As if it were a dirty secret she didn’t want anyone to see.

Heart slamming against her ribs, she waited for Alistair to respond to anything. He wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her from the ground with a whoop. “Kahrin. We’re having a  _child_!”

A small eek slipped from her as he kissed her, her lips stiff against his. She couldn’t think. His hands and lips on her didn’t register with her mind. The world spun around in a hazy blur.

“Ah, Your Majesty. You should… as a healer I have to… the baby. Be careful with her. She’s… well not delicate but--” Anders twitched in apprehension, both palms forward towards them in caution.

“Right.” Alistair laughed heartily and set her on the ground, keeping his hands on her waist to steady her as she stared off ahead, still dazed. 

“Take your time returning to the City, Majesty,” Anders said quietly, lowering his head in a seemingly respectful gesture. “Horse rides can be strenuous.”

Alistair cupped her face in both hands and turned it up towards his. “We will.” If his grin had been any wider, it would have split his face twain. “I won’t do anything that will hurt her, or our baby.”

_Our baby_.

Kahrin swallowed thickly, clutching the parcel to her stomach. “No. Have to be careful.” Her words drifted from her lips, moving through water. She heard them far away, like she’d drifted off out of her body. She curled a hand over her mouth and felt her shoulders shake long before she realised tears started tracking her cheeks.

“Hey,” Alistair whispered to her, stroking her hair. “This is good news. This is what we’ve been hoping for.” He kissed the tears from her cheeks, one at a time, and hugged her to him. “I’m so happy. I love you.”

She let him hold her against his chest for a few moments, the coolness of his chest plate welcomed against her hot cheek. Placing both hands on him, she pushed away, turning her wide eyes up at his. How did this happen? Fear froze her, throat tightening, calculating how long her head would remain on it. “Alistair I…”

“I know.” Smiling, he kissed her forehead again, then stooped, locking his hands together like he had what seemed a lifetime ago in Redcliffe, to boost her onto the horse.

She watched him, confused about what she was supposed to do. Her head turned, finding Anders, her face imploring him to help her.

“You should get on the horse,” Anders murmured gently. He touched her shoulder lightly, with the tips of his fingers. 

When she turned to face him, the warmth in his brown eyes seemed gone, replaced with regret. Words refused to leave her tongue. She slid her arms around his chest and hugged him tightly, earning a startled gasp from him. He patted her back awkwardly, looking straight ahead. “Good-bye,” she whispered into his chest.

Alistair’s warm chuckle broke the moment. “The news bearer gets all the perks, I see.” He chucked Anders on the shoulder firmly. “I owe you. Thank you for your help.”

His helpless chuckle shook Kahrin against him, making her lurch just a little. He looked at her, his expression unreadable in her state, and laid a brief kiss on her forehead. “Maker watch over you and your baby, Majesty.” 

He let her go, backing away and folding his arms behind his back as if that would keep him from reaching for her again. Kahrin shook her head out of the fog and accepted Alistair’s help onto the horse. To her surprise, he hefted himself behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. He squeezed the horse’s barrel, turning them about to start down the road.

Kahrin craned her neck just as the Wardens fell from sight, her eyes meeting Anders’ last. She pulled them away and faced ahead of her.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

_9:31 Dragon, Denerim_

 

“I’m pregnant, Alistair. I’m not dying.” Kahrin stared at the plate in front of her, the food on it exactly what she’d asked for, and all of it making her feel a little green. The smell alone pulled saliva sharply from the gland and put a sickly sweet taste on her tongue.

He snorted, pulling chicken apart with his fingers, posture rigid, and watching her as he chewed. Swallowing, he wiped his mouth and hands on the napkin and gave her a long look. “We’re both dying, Kahrin. Faster than anyone else, and faster than anyone knows.”

She meant to argue. She opened her mouth to do so, but the retort died there. He was right. As far as either of them knew, the child in her belly was a miracle. An impossibility. “I mean,” she looked up at him, folding her hands in her lap, knuckles whitening as she gripped them, “that my condition is not terminal. Confining me to my bed seems premature. I’m a warrior, Alistair, and a Grey Warden besides. I’m meant to  _move_.”

Both hands pressed to the table, Alistair looked at her, his expression losing the last of the lightness he’d been struggling to hold onto. “Better premature than too late. If you get reckless, you could lose our baby. I won’t allow it.” The sharpness in his tone was an increasingly familiar warning.

“Won’t  _allow_  it?” Kahrin curled a hand over the swell of her belly. It felt like the fastest thing to happen to her. So much of the pregnancy had passed before she’d found out that the end seemed to hurtle at her. “I won’t let anything happen to this baby. I am perfectly capable--” She pressed knuckles to her mouth and turned her face away, training her eyes on a tapestry covering one wall. Her lashes flicked, heavy with tears, though she tried to hide it. She hated crying, and the more she tried not to cry, the more ferociously the tears came.

“Hey.” The softness returned to Alistair’s voice, and he moved from his chair to her side, crouching on one knee. “Hey. I’m sorry. I’m such an ass.”

“No, you’re not.” There was no room in the clutter of guilt and shame in her mind for uncharitable thoughts for her husband. This wasn’t _their_  baby. There were times she clung to the line that was that knowledge. As surely as the child was tethered to her inside, she would be bound to Anders as long as the babe moved. “I don’t know what I’m feeling from minute to minute and I fear it is making me unkind to His Majesty.” 

“Oh, love.” He brushed a tear from her tattooed cheek. “So formal. Like it’s a shield.” One hand curled over the back of her neck, the other brushed over her belly before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the rise. “What’s worrying you?”

The fingers of her hand trailed over her throat before curling into the collar of her dress. She took a deep breath, the stays pulling tight, again, stealing it from her lungs. If he found out, would he spare her because of the child inside her? Would he condemn her but spare the baby? 

“Disappointing you. You’re so excited.” Her eyes turned to meet his. Alistair was a good, kind, man, and deep down she did love him. Just not the way he needed her to. Not the way she should love a husband. The realisation that she loved him as her friend and King but little more had been a cold reality that washed over her with time since the Battle of Denerim.

She curled forward to kiss the top of his head, letting it linger. For her safety, for Anders’, for their child’s, she would be the perfect wife. No one ever had to know.

“You can’t.” He lifted to his feet, grasping her hands and pulling her from her chair. “You’re giving me everything I ever wanted.” His hands splayed over her back as he held her loosely to him, swaying slightly back and forth. “But women die doing this, Kahrin.” He choked a little over the words, tightening his hands while not pulling her too close. “Do this for me? Stay in bed. Rest. Don’t over-excite yourself.” His brow lowered a little. “No swords.”

She pushed back from him, her face screwing up. “I will compromise with you, but not like this. I’m not sick.”

He waved a hand at the unfinished plate she left on the table. “You can’t even eat your dinner. Don’t tell me that’s not sick.”

“It’s a natural part of the process.”

“There’s nothing natural about crying all the time and not being able to keep food down. You threw up pie last night.”

Her brow creased in confusion as she tugged on the middle of her dress. It had just been let out and now felt like it was digging into her stomach. “You’re angry over pie?”

He ran a hand over his hair. “No! I’m not--” He took a deep breath, trying to calm. “I’m not angry.” The apple of his throat moved when he swallowed. “You’re not okay. You haven’t been since we returned from Amaranthine.”

It shouldn’t have stung. It did, though. Keenly. 

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant, Alistair.”

He walked halfway across the room, scrubbing his face with both hands, and seemed to bounce off of nothing, doubling back to her. Palm flat, he chopped his hand through the air at her. “I know that! And we should be happy about it!”

She froze, her whole body tensing as her eyes widened at him. Jaw clenched, her chest rose and fell rapidly. “I am, Your  _Majesty_. I am happy about this baby.”

Silence settled between them as he breathed deeply through his nose, clearly grappling with frustration. “That’s another thing. The formality. Kahrin, I’m your husband, not your lord.”

“You’re both now.” She swallowed several times, blinking rapidly against a wave of dizziness, focusing on a spot on the floor. “My King and my husband.” Desperately, she gulped air. 

“I’m still me.” He reached for her, hand cupping her jaw as she turned her face to the floor. “And I love you. But you’re pulling away. What are you afraid of?”

“You,” she spat.

Alistair stepped back from her, dropping his hands to his sides. “How? How can you say that?” 

She regretted the word as soon as she’d let it fly, but the truth was her best defense in this. “You want this too much. It can’t possibly live up to what you’ve imagined. When that happens, you’ll resent me.” Fingers curled over her lips and her eyes lidded. She reached out to support herself on his arm.

“I could never resent you.” His hand touched her face lightly as he leaned in for a kiss.

Kahrin held up a hand to stop him. “Alistair, don’t.”

“You’re my wife, Kahrin. Please,  _please_  don’t push me away.”

The floor blurred out in her vision. “I’m not.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

“No… I’m…”

Concern pulled his mouth down, his face paling. “Kahrin, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” She tried to move around him, making a path for the bin near the hearth, but he stepped in her way. 

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I-I’m not.” She doubled forward, retching on his boots.

 

#

 

Kahrin compromised. Even without Alistair’s insistence, she stayed in bed some days. Grief roiled in her like the sea, waves taking her under faster than she could pull herself above. Tears came, ebbing and flowing and sometimes pulling her sharply in the undertow. During the low tides she dammed them away and suffered silently, always the model Queen as she went about her day. Every worry she hid behind a regal mask.

Sometimes Alistair sat with her during the roughest parts, stroking her hair or reading to her, hoping for a break in whatever was consuming her. He rested his hand on her stomach, smoothing it back and forth idly before setting his book aside and laying beside her.

“I’m worried about you,” he murmured into her ear.

She didn’t mean to snap, but the words flew before she could think better of it. “You’re worried about not having an heir. Not me.”

He buried his nose in her hair and sighed. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s true, though. I’ve heard you and Eamon talking. You and Teagan. I know what Eamon thinks of queens who can’t produce heirs.”

He rolled to his back and scrubbed a hand over his face, groaning. “They’re thinking of Ferelden, Kahrin. And so am I.”

“I can’t lie here any longer. My blood burns in my veins. I need to move.” She pushed away from him, grunting as she struggled against her girth to swing her legs to the side of the bed.

His fingers wrapped over her shoulders, holding her from standing. “You need to not put the two of you in danger.” He kissed her temple, resting his hand over her swollen middle. “It won’t be long now. Please, just a little longer?”

She sat quietly for a time, then relented with an inclination of her head, lying back on her side, facing away from him.

The sigh he let tickled her neck before she heard it. “I have a surprise for you.”

Bedclothes rustled under her as she turned to meet his eyes. “Hmm?”

A smile spread over his face for the first time in days. “Some of the Wardens. I invited them to stay here. To celebrate with us when the baby comes.”

It wasn’t possible, was it? She pushed up to her elbow and looked at him. Keeping the hope out of her voice sapped her energy. “Really?”

“Really.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “That makes you happy?”

The smile on her face felt foreign. “It does.” She curled against him, laying a hand over his on her stomach. “You try so hard to make me happy. I apologise for being so unbearable.”

“Anything in my power,” he whispered into her ear. She felt the firm thump strike against his hand. For a moment she let herself get lost in his happiness, in the glee lighting up his features, in the awe in his barely breathed words. “That’s our baby.”

Her face fell again, but she leaned against him to hide it. 

 

#

 

“You need to settle down, there, Nug Humper.”

“I’m settled. Look at me. I’m calm! I helped kill an Archdemon, I can do this.” 

Oghren guffawed, pulling a flask from behind his beard. “Thought you could use this. If you’re up to it.” He sprawled lazily on one of the over-stuffed sofas, draping an arm over the back of it.

Alistair looked at him, the insult on his face possibly believable if he hadn’t been laughing. “How bad can it be?” Reluctant to stop his invisible track on the rug, he plopped down next to him.

“You’d be cute, Nug Humper, if I didn’t think ol’ Oghren would be dragging you in to see that nuglet of yours after a few swigs.” He opened the flask for him and handed it over. “Warden’s gonna be fine. She’s a tough little spitfire.”

“I know.” The King took the flask and held it to his lips, his eyes widening at the smell. “Still. She means the world to me. If I lost her…” He took a hearty swig, coughing the moment the ale hit his tongue, and forcibly choking it down. “What’s in that? Dirt?”

“Yeah.” He took the flask and drank a slug. “Orzammar’s finest.”

“Oh, so fit for a king, then?”

“Naw.” Oghren took another drink and handed it back to him. “Wouldn’t waste this on some jerk in a crown. Fit for an ol’ friend, though.”

Alistair looked at it for a long time, smiling warmly before plucking up his courage and taking another sip. He glanced at Oghren, then took a longer swig. His face ruddied as he choked back another cough. “Thanks. Needed that,” he wheezed.

“Ah. You’re gonna be good, kid.” Oghren clapped him on the back, taking another long drink. “Not so hard, being a father, once you put your mind to it.” He elbowed him a little. “Plus you’re good at keepin’ your wife happy.”

Beaming, Alistair nodded, then paused and looked at him. “Wait. What?”

“Don’t be shy, Nug Humper. That was good work of you.” He laughed, deep from his belly, taking another long drink. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Fooled you, did I?” He took the flask back from Oghren, took a deep breath, and hurried down another swallow. “Just so we’re clear, what did I do?”

“Not sure I’d unleash the fury of Orzammar on so many people, but you really stepped it up. Nothin’ like a little threesome. Spice things up. Keep your marriage happy. How’d she talk you into it?”

Alistair’s sandy eyebrows shot up. “You were there. Didn’t really get asked so much as ushered into it before I knew what was happening.” He laughed awkwardly. 

“Didn’t think ol’ Sparklefingers was your type, but good on ya.” He elbowed Alistair again. “Sounded like it made your wife happy.” One more swig went down. “Was leavin’ the door open your idea or that comedian mage?”

“Oghren is it just me, or are you drunk?”

“Not anymore than usual.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Heh heh, what’re  _you_  talking about?”

“Isabela.”

“Huh.” He swallowed another gulp and handed the remainder back. “Haven’t seen her since the Blight. How’s she doin’?”

Alistair’s face drew tight. “I’m afraid I don’t know.” His knuckles tightened on the flask.

A gentle knock sounded just before the door opened. “Pardon me, Your Majesty.” The midwife stepped in and curtsied. 

“Millicent you don’t have to do that.” He waved a hand to her, his voice numb as he looked past her.

“Your Majesty.” She leaned over to look at him. “We have a girl.”

 

#

 

“She’s beautiful, Kahrin.” Nathaniel stood near the edge of the bed, watching her cradle her daughter in the crook of her arm. Sweat shone dimly on her brow, her hair clinging to her skin even after the midwife and an attendant had helped her change the sheets and clean up.

She cooed softly, making adoring, but tired, sounds. “No, she’s perfect. Look at her.” For the first time in recent memory, Kahrin turned a smile up at him. Her eyes crinkled as she held a hand out for him to sit beside her, which he did.

“I stand corrected.” He leaned over, the leather of his blues creaking, and kissed Kahrin’s temple. “And I am very proud of you.”

Kahrin stroked the sleeping baby’s dark hair. “Will you tell him for me?” she whispered. 

“Pardon?” Nathaniel leaned against his arm, balanced on the headboard. 

“That his daughter is perfect?” Her smile stayed hopeful, though her eyes were pained. 

He didn’t need to ask who she meant. Years between them and her expression made it obvious. “Of course I will.” He stroked her hair, pushing a strand back into the braid. “He wanted to be here. I said no.”

She made no sound, only nodded and kissed her daughter’s forehead. She inhaled against her hair, committing her scent to memory.

“Have you decided what to name her?” Nate slid closer so he could look at the baby. 

“Elyssa.” She smiled despite the tone of their conversation.

“A lovely name, fitting of a princess.”

She looked at him, inclining her head in a silent promise. This was familiar, his promise of protection. “Thank you,” she murmured. She let a long breath out and leaned her head against his shoulder while Elyssa made a suckling motion, her tongue sticking out slightly.

The door whined softly and opened without a preceding knock and Alistair strode in, without word, the midwife scurrying after him. “Your Majesty, I should make sure the Queen is decent.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that is an issue you need worry over.” He stopped just past the door, letting the mage healer pass them both to start fussing around the room.

“Alistair,” Kahrin greeted him brightly. “Alistair, come look at her. Come see how perfect my daughter is.” Her head leaned against the pillows, tiredly, but her smile spread easily. 

His face stayed neutral as he crossed to the other side of her bed. “I am sure your daughter is, indeed, perfect.” He made no motion to move closer and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Don’t be nervous. Come look at her.” She leaned forward enough to hold the baby out to him. “Hold her. Her name’s Elyssa.”

Breathing evenly, he leaned down and carefully lifted her from Kahrin’s arms, nestling her tiny head onto the crook of his own. He looked at her, silently, for a long time, his throat moving as he swallowed, and his eyes pained.

Nathaniel squeezed Kahrin’s arm before getting to his feet, eyes never leaving the King.

Alistair regarded him for a moment, holding his chin high. “Warden Howe, I’d like a moment alone with my wife.”

Kahrin’s brow pulled down, her tattoo creasing. “He’s my family, Alistair. He should be here.”

Alistair looked at her squarely for the first time, and it was only then she noticed the redness across his nose and cheeks. “If you insist.”

“If it pleases Your Majesty,” Nathaniel began slowly, his body coiled as if anticipating a strike, “perhaps I could hold your daughter.” He sniffed the air. “It seems His Majesty has been celebrating.”

Alistair snorted, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips. “But she’s not my daughter, is she?”

Eyes wide, Kahrin winced as she tried to sit up more. “Alistair--”

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “I know.” He laughed again, looking at the baby, sleeping obliviously in his grasp. “You’d think this would hurt less. I’m a bastard myself.”

“Alistair, what are you talking about?” She schooled her face, smiling for him as the colour drained away from her. “Of course she’s your daughter.”

“Oh, shut up, Kahrin,” he snarled. “I’m not stupid.”

The whole room stood still, the midwife and healer staring at the King. Only the fire in the hearth made any sound until the mage and midwife bowed their way out the door, backward.

She covered her mouth with a hand, chest rising and falling, her other hand gripping the front of her robe near the neck.

“You will not speak to her that way,” Nathaniel warned him. “I do not care how angry you are or how much you have had to drink.”

Time stopped for the three heartbeats Kahrin counted in her chest before Alistair shouted. “I am the King of Ferelden! I will speak to my Queen in any manner I see fit if I feel she deserves it.” Elyssa startled in his arms, whimpering into a cry.

Kahrin let out a strained yelp into her hand, her other hand moving to clutch her chest as Elyssa’s cries spurred her letdown. “Alistair, give me my daughter. You’re angry and you’re not--”

“Of course I’m angry! You’re my wife! How  _could_  you?” 

“Give me the child, Your Majesty.” Nathaniel moved closer to the King, one hand up, placating. 

“If you lay one finger on me, Howe, I will toss you in the tower.”

“Alistair, stop!” Kahrin pushed up a little more, breathing out deeply. 

He laughed. “You want me to stop? How long has it been going on, Kahrin?”

“It’s over,” she insisted. 

“You damn well better believe it is.” Without realising it, he began bouncing on his feet, trying to shush the baby. “Do you love him?”

“What?”

His laugh lowered. “It was the mage, right? Do you love him?”

Teeth clenched and refusing to utter any sound of pain, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the baby. “Give me my daughter.”

“I am going to have to insist the same, Majesty.”

“You get to insist nothing, traitor’s son.” He shot a look at Kahrin, his eyes so cold she swore she could feel the chill. “You two are quite the pair. No wonder you pardoned him.”

“Alistair.” Kahrin pulled herself to standing, and moved stiffly towards him, a hand pressing on her lower stomach. 

“Better a traitor’s son than gotten on the wrong side of a king’s blanket.”

“Nathaniel,” she hissed. “Stop this, both of you.” She laid her hand on Alistair’s arm. “Please.”

He jerked away from her, and she twitched backward, shielding her face reflexively. Nathaniel needed only two strides to be between them. “Do not--”

“Don’t worry, Howe. I swore to honor and protect. One of us in this marriage understands what that means.” He shoved past Nathaniel towards the door.

“Alistair, my baby.” She made it to the post of the bed, supporting herself around it with one arm.

“Guard.” He bellowed into the hallway. “See that Warden Howe finds his way back to the compound.” 

“Alistair, no,” she begged. “Bring her back to me. She needs to eat.”

He glanced into the room at Kahrin. “The Queen is confined to her chambers. Only the healer is allowed in or out.”

Her eyes flew wide as she shook her head. Two guards flanked Nathaniel, his posture taking a more defensive stance. “Nate, no. Don’t. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced, but relented and let them escort him from the room. “I will be back, Kahrin.”

Alistair called to the midwife. “Take the baby to the nursery. Tell Bann Teagan I need to see him, immediately.”

“Alistair, no. Please. Bring her back. Bring my daughter back.”

He looked at her, all the warmth in his brown eyes gone. “You will not address me so informally any longer.” He pulled the door shut behind him, and she heard the steps of guards fall in front of it.

“My daughter,” she cried, sinking down to the floor, holding her stomach as she curled into a crouch. “Bring back my daughter! Majesty, please!”

 


	5. Chapter 5

_9:31 Dragon, Denerim_

 

Six weeks passed before the Landsmeet could be convened. It passed with Kahrin confined to her quarters, never moving further than the balcony. More than a month where Alistair neither visited her nor allowed her visitors. Any correspondence she received was placed in her hands already opened, and requests to send any out were denied.

She received a letter from Fergus that was no doubt meant to be encouraging, though the language was laced with disappointment. He’d be at the Landsmeet, but he wouldn’t be able to allowed to speak with her. He and Alfstanna promised a pledge of support, and Kahrin couldn’t imagine what such a declaration must have cost them, especially while they rebuilt Highever. It was likely she’d find out soon enough.

She didn’t see Elyssa apart from being permitted to nurse her for the first few weeks. When her eye colour settled from the muddy brown of the newly born, they were a rich, warm, familiar amber brown. The only information she received after that time was that her child was being provided for until permanent arrangements could be made. No one who was permitted to see her -- which totaled up to the healer mage who had helped with delivery and one skittish servant -- could tell her what that meant. It left her too numb to cry.

The day of the Landsmeet two servants helped cinch her into a dress her post-partum body probably needed two more weeks to fit into. Blue, and stately. A reminder that she was, still, the Hero of Ferelden. More subtly, that she was still a Cousland, and that meant something, at least to her. Her hair was braided carefully into a coronet and her crown laid on her head. She was still the Queen and she meant to put that face forward, even if it didn’t last. 

Despite the crowd of representatives from the Bannorn, the chamber was chilly when she was lead in, escorted by two flanking lines of guards. She was queen, but she was also a warrior of reputation, and there were apparently no chances to be taken. 

It was the first time she’d seen him since Elyssa’s birth. Alistair sat up on the dais, his face impassive, and in finery she hadn’t seen before. All the time she’d spent helping him learn governance had paid off -- he meant to make his own statement, too. Polished and groomed to royal perfection. He didn’t so much as meet her eyes as she was lead in. There was no seat offered to her. She wouldn’t have taken it anyway. 

Every eye save the King’s felt trained on her as she stood in the middle of the assembly. Not an innocent woman, but one who was not to be shamed for her choices, she held her chin high and hands folded in front of her. Her eyes drifted along the upper levels of the room, resting upon Nathaniel and Sigrun, and frowning fractionally when she saw none of the others. Nathaniel met her eyes, inclining his head just once. 

Arl Eamon stood at the King’s side, and when everyone seemed to be in place, he bowed with deference to his liege and stepped forward. “If it pleases His Majesty, we should begin.”

Alistair tilted his head forward, raising a hand, but saying nothing.

“Her Majesty, Kahrin Theirin, stands before you accused of treason against His Majesty the King of Ferelden, her husband, Alistair Theirin, and against Ferelden.” He met her eyes, his mouth hard behind his beard.

“Eamon,” she said simply.

He seemed to take the informality personally with an almost inaudible snort. “Your Majesty, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment like it could replace the swords she wished were in her hands. The only weapon she had was her upbringing, and she reached for it then, keeping her voice from faltering. “Only that it was never my wish to hurt His Majesty. That my actions have done so is my one, true, regret.”

Her eyes rested on the dais, but Alistair made no indication that he’d even heard her.

“Did you not engage in an affair with one of the Grey Wardens under your command?” Eamon’s voice was cold and unforgiving.

Without blinking, she answered. “I did.” A stir of whispers circled the room.

“And that Grey Warden now has carnal knowledge of Her Majesty since her marriage to the King?”

“Half of Fereldan nobility takes lovers,” one woman’s voice called down from the balcony. “The King himself is parented out of such an arrangement.”

“Yes!” Eamon answered. “And look where that lead us. We can not afford to allow anything to endanger the lines of succession.” 

“I find it odd that Arl Eamon would turn his nose up at illegitimate children, considering Redcliffe was in a habit of fostering them.” The Grand Cleric’s face moved less than the murmur her words caused in the assembly. 

“Those circumstances were extenuating.” 

“The affairs of men always seem to be, in my experience,” she answered him dryly, lifting her chin. 

He paused a moment to see if anyone else would raise a question. “Your Majesty, is it true this man was also a mage?”

Kahrin’s brow pulled down as she regarded him. “I do not see how this is relevant.”

“Did this affair not result in your becoming with child?”

Kahrin kept her gaze cool as she held Eamon’s. “There is no way to be certain.”

“But you suspect, don’t you, Your Majesty?”

With great effort she kept the pain from her face. “Yes.”

“Did you not willfully lead the King to believe the child was his own?” Eamon waved a hand in a circle. 

“No,” Kahrin said firmly. “No, I never said that she was--” She stopped herself, glancing at Alistair, who raised an eyebrow though he focused on something far away. “It was not my intention to deceive His Majesty. I wasn’t certain.” The silver lie came so easily even she believed it for a moment. She and Alistair had no success despite their efforts. 

“Not until your lies and conduct were exposed.” He made a considering sound in his throat. “So you would have put a potential mage in direct line to inherit the throne?”

From their corner of the chamber, Alfstanna raised her voice. “That could be true of any child from any parentage. We’re have no way of knowing who might grow to be a mage.”

Eamon regarded Alfstanna and Fergus, his mouth puckered. “Highever’s opinion in this matter has been well-documented. But the reality is that magic exists to serve man, not rule over him, meaning--”

“The Chantry is not prepared to pursue charges of heresy,” the Grand Cleric said with finality. “There is no way to decide intent in this matter.”

Eamon’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t comment further. 

“However,” the Grand Cleric continued without waiting to be addressed, “it seems unfair that we charge only one half of a treasonous pair. I would think we would have her co-conspirator here, facing charges himself.”

“Yes. One would think.” He lifted his chin towards Nathaniel and Sigrun. “What have the Grey Wardens to say on the matter? You failed to produce the mage in question.”

“The Grey Wardens are under no obligation to submit in this matter.” Nathaniel kept his voice even. “However efforts to cooperate have been… complicated.”

“Complicated in what way, Commander Howe?”

“I am afraid the mage, Anders, is no longer available. We do not currently know his whereabouts.”

Eamon snorted, looking to Kahrin. “Convenient.”

She dug her nails into her palms to keep her face from showing shock. “If you suggesting I had something to do with this, I will remind you that I have been in complete isolation since my daughter’s birth.”

“Of course you have.” He looked to a small group of guards. “We will send parties to Amaranthine and Highever, as well as all major ports.” He turned back to Kahrin. “Your Majesty, you are aware of the penalties for treason, correct?”

She prayed for strength as she breathed in. “I am.” She swallowed, but kept her eyes steady on his. “And I am prepared to pay it.”

He nodded. “Then this matter is finished.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. She wondered how soon it would be. How many days she had left, and if she would be allowed to see Elyssa before then.

Someone spoke from the back of the hall. “You can not put the daughter of Ferelden’s oldest family to death. We won’t stand for it.” A rush of agreement rose.

“No.” The entire Landsmeet quieted and turned to the King, who was standing.

“Your Majesty?” Eamon stepped aside, yielding the floor.

Kahrin watched Alistair move forward, his face cleanly shaven and wearing the crown he hated. His doublet was crisp, and he looked far older and more mature than she ever remembered. Her heart twisted as if in a vise. Part of her would never stop loving him, but she couldn’t remember when that love had dimmed to warm affection and not the needful heat it had once been.

“I am not an unreasonable man. This is no ordinary situation.” He stopped in the invisible track he was wearing in the floor and looked at his hands as if they’d betrayed him. “As much as I wish it were not so, I love the Queen. That, and in light of her family’s loyalty, and her service not only to Ferelden, but to Thedas as a whole during the Blight, I can not bring myself to see her dead for this.”

She shuddered a breath, her stomach easing. With dread holding her heart, she waited to see what he had decided. 

“My love for you sways me to mercy. Kahrin Theirin, you are from this day stripped of the title Queen, including all courtesies extended to you with it. I seek to have our marriage annulled by the Chantry, but from this moment you are no longer my wife. After today I will think of you no longer.”

She didn’t cry. Part of her couldn’t help but be proud of how he carried himself. She’d always believed in him, always knew he would make a steady and good king, given time.

It had just never crossed her mind that he would come into it due to her betraying him.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“She is to be taken to the Chantry until arrangements can be made to transfer her to Weisshaupt, where she will be surrendered to the Grey Wardens for whatever justice they see fit. May the Maker have mercy.”

Skirts held in her hands, she lowered into a deep curtsy, holding it with her eyes focused on the stones of the floor. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

It was a long time before he answered. Long enough that her legs trembled and abdominal muscles ached from holding the position. “We’re done here.”

Alistair left the assembly chamber, boots making steady thuds as he strode away, and she never saw him again.

 

#

 

Her arms and belongings were stripped from her. Upon arriving at the small, bare, utilitarian room she was provided by the chantry, Kahrin opened her chest, finding only a set of her Warden blues, a simple dress, and her family sword. She shouldn’t have expected to find King Maric’s sword with her things. That had been given to her by Alistair when she’d promised to be his wife. It had been a trade, and until now, a shared joke between them. She would have to make due with one until she could procure a second sword. If she lived long enough to need one.

“My child,” the Grand Cleric’s voice was soft as she stood in the doorway to the room. “Are you well enough for a visitor?”

She didn’t turn around at first. “Of course, Your Grace.”

The soft cooing caught her attention, and she turned around, a soft smile taking over her pained expression.

“I think someone wishes to see her mother.” The Grand Cleric walked softly across the room, holding Elyssa out to her. 

Kahrin choked over a sob as she collected her into her arms. Time since birth had changed her, her parentage becoming more obvious. The tuft of dark hair on her head. The amber eyes that looked back into her own mismatched hazel ones. The subtly darker tone her skin had settled into since birth which was scant a shade lighter than Kahrin's own. She hugged her close, inhaling over her tiny head, shoulders shaking with relief. “Thank you.” She settled carefully into a small rocker -- the only other furniture save her small bed in the room -- and pulled her dress open to begin nursing. “For everything.”

“The least I can do, child.” The Grand Cleric moved to perch on the edge of Kahrin’s bed. “We will do our best to make you comfortable here.”

“Why are you being so kind to me, Your Grace?”

“I married you and laid that crown upon your head.” Her wizened face softened with a smile. “Perhaps also because I do not stand for hypocrisy. Arl Eamon holds some to standards he himself will not follow.”

Kahrin eyed her, rocking gently. “I don’t understand.”

“You may not be aware, but he tried to have Queen Anora removed for not producing an heir quickly enough. He actually encouraged the King to seek affairs, and even find a new wife.”

Kahrin snorted softly, stroking Elyssa’s back while she fed. “Actually, I did know. We found correspondence between King Cailan, Maker rest him, and Empress Celene.”

“I am not surprised to hear this.”

“Alis-- His Majesty had it destroyed, to protect Cailan and Anora’s reputations.”

“I see.”

Kahrin smiled, almost to herself. “It’s treasonous, in my opinion. But the Arl is too well-liked to be tried for it.”

The Grand Cleric gripped her hand gently. “It is also no coincidence that he would attempt to broker a tie with Orlais, considering his own connection through Lady Isolde.”

“Not that it does me any good to say so now.” Kahrin smiled softly at her. “I never meant for any of this to happen, Your Grace.”

“We seldom do.”

She closed her eyes for a few minutes, rocking quietly, Elyssa’s suckling sounds and gulps all that existed. “Where will she go?”

“My understanding is that Bann Teagan will be fostering her. Paid for by your brother, of course. When she is old enough, we will watch her for signs of magic, and determine from there.”

Mother’s lessons kept the darkness from her face. “Of course.” She’d heard enough of the Circle from Anders, and seen enough of it herself during the Blight, to feel a clenching in her chest at the thought of Elyssa being raised there. The panic of true helplessness rose, icing her through. She had no choice, and no way to change their individual lots. “I will write, from Weisshaupt. As often as I am permitted.” If she still had a head.

“I will try my best to keep you informed.” She stood, kissing the crown of Kahrin’s head. “Maker watch over you both. I will leave you two be for now.”

 

#

 

Bann Teagan arrived two weeks later. 

He was as kind as he could have been. He didn’t rush Kahrin to say good-bye, and gave her time to hand Elyssa over on her own. No guards accompanied him, and despite the grief that clung to her like ill-made armour, she managed to hold her composure until he took his leave. He left her with every reassurance that he would treat her as if she were his own, and that she would never lack for love.

It was little comfort, and as soon as she was alone, she took to her bed. Blessedly, she was left to her own counsel, and no one tried to provoke her out as she cried herself to exhaustion.

Nathaniel arrived two days after, coming to her room with a tray of tea and broth.

“Sister Bethel tells me you have not eaten. You will need your strength for your trip.” He set the tray aside and stroked her hair. “It hurts me to see you in so much pain, Kahrin.”

“I did this to myself.” She resisted for several minutes, wanting to hide the way she felt laid open, then wrapped an arm around his leg, pressing her face into his thigh, letting her sobs wrack her. “I did this to myself.”

He made shushing sounds, rubbing her back. “You were unhappy. Also… you did not act alone in this.” He moved to give her more lap to lie in.

“What happened to him?”

For a long time, she lost track of how much, he didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled fingers through her hair, making a considering sound in his throat. “We were forced to conscript a templar. His name was Rolan. I was instructed that they should be paired together for all missions.”

“By the King?”

“Yes.” He took a breath. “I was asked to bring him to Denerim for the Landsmeet. I was looking for a way around it.”

“I should have been there,” she whispered.

“Kahrin,” he started, “your presence would only have made it worse.”

“But what happened?”

“So far as I can tell, he made a deal with Justice.” He glanced at her, attempting to predict her reaction. “The kind only mages can make.”

She shook, covering her mouth with one hand. In Kinloch Hold, she’d seen mages accept demons, their bodies twisting and contorting into unrecognisable things. She made a strangled cry into her hand.

“Shhh.” He gripped her shoulders, trying to help her sit up. “He was fine last I saw him. As fine as can be expected. Alive.” Glancing at the door to make certain they were unobserved, he lowered his head and whispered into her ear. “I did all which I was able for him. For you.”

Biting her lower lip and watching his steely eyes, she wondered how she’d ever thought he was against her. In truth, he’d always been the only person completely on her side. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you.” Kissing his cheek, she smiled at him, gratefully. “How long will you be staying?”

He tapped her chin with his thumb. “Tomorrow I am to escort you to Weisshaupt.”

She took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. “Thank you. I don’t deserve you.”

“You really don’t,” he told her, tweaking her nose. “But I would not desert you now.”

 

#

 

_9:31 Dragon, The Anderfels_

 

They’d been escorted by guards to the port, where Stroud met them, having arranged her passage.

“I can not say I approve of what you did, Cousland, especially considering the advantageous position to the Wardens you were in.” He looked out over the prow of the ship, a fine mist spraying over them, cool and welcomed in the sun. “Both the King and Queen of Ferelden were Grey Wardens. We could not have hoped for a better foothold.” He looked at her for a long time. “The mistakes of being put in such a command so young notwithstanding, you did end a Blight.” He sighed, wiping his mustache. “If it buys you no leniency from your brother Warden, it should with the First Warden. Your King is a fool to not see the advantage of setting aside his personal feelings in this. Take whatever comfort in that you will.” 

“Thank you.” She scratched at her braided hair. “What do you think the First Warden will do with me?”

“It is difficult to say. He is not pleased with the situation. But your record will buy you favor. If you mind yourself, it is possible you will be given a favorable posting until your Calling.”

“So, I won’t be hung? Or worse?”

Stroud snorted and brushed off a glare from Nathaniel. “He has no care about your infidelity to the King beyond the jeopardy to our position in Ferelden.” He looked up at the crow’s nest as the call of  _land ho_  was heard. “We should help with preparations for docking.”

The hard work on the ship felt good after months of idleness. She pitched in, learning her way around the ship quickly with Nathaniel and Stroud’s help. Easy work for a body made to endure. The captain seemed pleased to take Wardens as passengers, both for protection in case of attack, and for the extra hands. 

They stepped onto the quay, Kahrin’s legs feeling heavy on land. They were greeted by two other Wardens, with horses, ready to take them the rest of the way. Before they mounted, Nathaniel stopped her, holding out a wrapped parcel.

“Master Wade sends this with his regrets he could not say farewell.”

Kahrin blinked at him, then slowly unwrapped the sword, her eyebrows lifting high.

“I realised you were going to need a new one, and you are again permitted to bear arms. He calls it Vigilance. I believe you will find it fitting.”

She smiled, testing the weight and admiring how it rested in her palm, feeling a little less lopsided with two swords again, then nodded before working the straps of the scabbard over her shoulder. “I shall write him immediately to thank him.” She swung herself easily up into her saddle. "Thank you, Nathaniel."

He lifted into the saddle of the gelding beside her dappled mare. "Always."

Their journey was not long, and sooner than she expected, they were standing in the shadow of the fortress. It was easy to feel small when facing the edifice of Weisshaupt. It was her first time seeing it in person. It soared high into the sky until she was dizzy from looking up at it. The sky was stark, so bright she had to shield her eyes to see the top of the portcullis.

“You will acclimate to the weather, Warden Cousland. We can have you kitted out to be appropriate after you have settled in and met with the First Warden.”

“Yes, ser,” she murmured, her posture her strength.

The gate began opening, and Stroud lead them through it. “Welcome home, Warden Cousland.” 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_9:34 Dragon, Kirkwall_

 

The letter had specified a location near the docks, though it was passably vague. A regular contact handed it off to him, one who knew he was Fereldan and kept him updated on what tidbits of news came over. The wording of the letter was heavily coded, clearly showing Collective assistance. There were no names, naturally, but whoever it was had both emergent need and deep pockets.

It would have been foolish to go alone. Even though he tended towards the foolish occasionally, Anders knew he needed someone at his back. Since Karl had died, it had been harder to risk going out, especially by himself. All it would take was one wrong turn and a run-in with Alrik for everything he’d done so far to come crashing down.

He and Danika didn’t always see eye to eye. Less so since they’d picked up that uptight prick of a Chantry brother. Or Prince. Who knew anymore? Even Sebastian seemed to waffle on it from day to day. What mattered that she considered him a friend, and had helped him out of more than one scrape. He still didn’t like to think about things that had almost happened.

There wasn’t time right then for uncharitable thoughts. It wasn’t just the offer of money, though not everyone in their merry band of misfits was newly reclaimed nobility or current royalty. For him, the money helped. It helped him procure more ingredients for tinctures and potions and other items the clinic needed. Those things helped him attend the needs of more people, which lead to more donations, which went right back into the Underground and the clinic supplies. Fortunately, since it was just him, he could skimp on things like food, and he mended his own clothes. Hawke helped when he asked, which was rarely, but he sometimes noticed a little extra in the donation basket after she visited.

“Any idea who we’re looking for?” Danika walked softly on her feet though she seemed bright and chipper as she peeked around out of the alcove. They had a decent view of both the harbor and the nearest templar patrol route.

“Two of them. Fereldan, I think, but I can’t be sure, Hawke.” He shot a wary glance at Sebastian. There was a lot of risk bringing someone so closely tied to the Chantry, but after Danika had laid His Royal Arse out over veiled suggestions to turn him and Merrill over to the templars, he’d kept himself settled down. Or rather, he seemed to give Anders a respectable berth. Getting on the bad side of royalty seemed to be his special talent.

“Maybe they’ll have clever signs,” Merrill said, her large eyes staring up at the moon while her lips twitched. He could never tell if she was serious.

“I hope not.” He went with joking, based on the look she gave him. It was easier. 

“Do you not think this is a job better suited for the templars or the guard, Hawke?

Anders could feel the tension inside immediately. The thoughts that were both his own and not.  _He is a danger to our work, Anders_.

Dany shook her head. “No. Whoever this is, it could have been mother or da. We’ll hear them out.” She glanced at Anders and winked. “I gave my word.”

One deep breath in. One out through his nose.  _I don’t trust him, but I trust Hawke. She’s proven she’s on our side_. Dany was sweet, and he liked her. Even considering her questionable romantic endeavors. “Thanks.” He opened his mouth to say more, but was stopped by the sounds of footsteps.

Both figures were shrouded, one more slender and slightly shorter. The shorter one had a burden loaded on his chest, concealed by holding the front of his cloak closed.

Dany had her blades in her hands, enough for them to flash in the moonlight and let people know she was armed, but her posture stayed unassuming and her smile toothy. Anders held his staff loosely in one hand, attempting to look non-threatening, but not so green that he didn’t think the situation could turn against them quickly. Merrill stood not far from him, as if caught up in a dream. He knew better than to doubt her. She might have seemed naive to him at times, but he’d seen her in a fight. At least he trusted her to have his back that far.

“You got our message. Good,” the older man greeted them.

“You’re Fereldan.” Dany cut straight to it. 

They were quiet for a few moments. “I beg your pardon, my lady. My manners.”

The formality still made her giggle, but she kept it quiet.

 By the accent and the overly-polite cadence to his speech, he was indeed Fereldan, and nobility. Not their normal clientele. 

“What brings you here?” Anders crossed his arms over his chest. 

“My name is Bann Teagan. This is my nephew, Connor.” They looked at one another, then at Hawke, then to Anders, and around the group in general. “We hear there is an excellent hat shop in Lowtown.”

Anders inclined his head in understanding. The Collective had sent them to seek the Underground. He rolled his shoulders and relaxed his posture slightly. He’d had his reasons for coming to Kirkwall, and a few more to leave Ferelden. Now he tried to do what he could for others in situations he was too familiar with. “Might know a little about that. It’ll take time.”

A soft sigh sounded, something stirring under Connor’s cloak. 

Teagan rubbed his face tiredly. “Rumor has it that you are a Fereldan Grey Warden.”

Anders groaned. “Former. Former Grey Warden.”

“Anders?” Connor asked. “I… I remember hearing about you.” That much was mutual. He could sympathise with the boy, now more than ever.

Anders chuckled. “That’s me. My reputation still holds, I see.”

“In more ways than you know, ser mage,” Teagan said quietly. “I believe we have a mutual acquaintance.” He looked at Connor, who opened his cloak, unwinding a sleeping toddler from the sling on his chest. Teagan lifted her from Connor’s arms, rubbing her back affectionately. “And someone you might like to meet.”

Anders narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?”

“We came on our own, like I said. We need assistance.” He stepped forward a few steps. “But unless I am mistaken, you were acquainted with the former Queen.”

Anders shifted his weight, straightening his posture. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of her, but he’d put her from his mind. It was the only way he’d been able to focus on what he’d come to do. He had to stop letting the  _what if’s_  bog him down. But now thoughts rammed into his head again, swallowing, eyes settling on the girl in Teagan’s arms as he mumbled distractedly. “She was my Commander in Amaranthine.”

“Among other things, if I recall.”

Anders slowly slung his staff on his back. It wasn’t possible. Was it? His face hardened. This was not the time to dredge up gossip or play jokes.

“What’s going on, Anders?” Dany crossed her arms, looking between the men. “Who’s the kid?”

He sucked in a quiet breath as Teagan reached the girl out to him. She rubbed her eyes with chubby fists and looked at him blearily with the confusion of the freshly awake. Dark hair stood up all around her head in wide rings. She blinked a few times, then reached for him. It took Anders a moment to react, stupidly working his jaw, searching for words. Shaking out of a slight haze, he finally took her in his hands. His eyes widened, meeting hers, large and wide, and even in the low light, the same colour as his own. “Maker. Is this… is she?”

Teagan nodded. “She has been in my care these last three years.”

Anders folded the girl to his chest, tucking her head under his chin, staring ahead in disbelief. “Perhaps we could move from the street? It seems we have some things to talk about.”

 

#

 

_9:35 Dragon, Kirkwall_

 

No matter how quiet he tried to be, the water in the tunnel sloshed with every step. It soaked through his boots and wet his trousers up to the knees. The bottom of his coat flapped against him, sodden. That exit into Lowtown had been clear three nights ago. Either someone tipped the templars off, or it really was just his terrible luck. Sometimes if it wasn’t for bad luck, he knew he’d have none at all.

He stopped at a T, closing his eyes and listening while he clutched Elyssa to his chest. The shouting was distant, reverberating off the walls, but he wasn’t careless enough to think that meant he had a great deal of lead. 

“They’re coming, papa,” Elyssa whispered in his ear, fingers buried in the feathers on his shoulders. 

He nodded his head once, then ducked down a side tunnel. “That’s right, Lyss. You ready to play a game?”

She smiled at him. “The quiet game?”

“The quiet game.” He squatted down, setting her safely out of the water. Crossing a finger over his lips, he gently urged her into a small alcove then cupped her face. “Papa will be right back. Remember, not a sound.”

The scrape of armour told him they were closer. Blue flashed in his eyes and cracked at his skin. It reflected off of her round face as she touched his cheek, big eyes round and very serious. She accepted Justice in their lives with the simplicity a child did all things. “Be careful with papa.” She crouched back into the shadow.

"They will not take you," their combined voices boomed, "nor make us leave you."

He pulled his staff, spinning out of the low crouch, pulling his hands up from the ground, lightning crackling and forming at his fingers. By the time the templars rounded the corner -- three of them -- bright arches were already skipping across the shallow water.

Replacing his staff on his back, he returned to the spot he’d left her, chest heaving with breath.

“I was really quiet,” she whispered, climbing up into his arms again, her whole body shaking.

“You were, sweetheart. You really were. And very brave.”

 

#

 

He dampened the lantern in the front of the clinic, then pulled the door closed behind him, latching it. Leaning against the door, he let out a deep breath, until his lungs were as empty as he could make them. Some days were busier than others, but today had been an endless stream. Healing took a lot out of him, even with his nearly-constant connection to the Fade. Justice forgot about things such as needing to use the loo and resting, and when Anders became focused, it was easy for him to forget as well. Making a circuit around the room, he began collecting bandages to be washed.

“Papa.” Elyssa poked her head around a wall, wild curls and bones and angles in a nightshirt that hung off of her.

He smiled wearily. “Hey, sweetheart.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and set the bandages down, then crossed three long strides to her and picked her up. She was light. In his opinion, too light, something which weighed on him almost constantly. It took hardly any effort to lift her. Tiny, like her mother. He wound a few strands of her hair around a finger and cringed at her filthy, bare, feet. She really shouldn’t be running barefoot anywhere in Darktown. Not even the clinic. “Ready for bed?”

“You didn’t eat dinner.” She laid her head on his shoulder, hugging him tightly around the neck and ruffling the feathers on his coat..

He sighed. “Papa’s not very hungry tonight.” The truth was that she needed what they had more than he did. One of the refugees had brought him half a loaf of bread and some hard cheese for healing an infection in his son. It wasn’t even close to what Elyssa required, but he did the best he could with what they had. She never went to bed hungry. He made sure of that, even if it meant he went without. “I had a big lunch today. Still full.”

_Do not attempt to deceive her, Anders_.

“You lie bad.” That was true. Justice made sure of it. Elyssa helped him undo his jacket and he slid it off, one sleeve and then the other so he didn’t have to put her down, then hanging it neatly on a peg. 

He sank onto his cot, tucking her against his chest. "I guess I do."

“I saved you some,” she said quietly, pulling a hunk of cheese wrapped in a napkin from the pocket of her night shirt. 

He chuckled and took it. “You take good care of me.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “How about we share, then? Hmm? Then wash up a little?”

She made a far too familiar face at him, then sighed, curling up against his chest and pulling her knees up to her chin. “Okay.” She took the piece he broke off for her, and they sat quietly. For a little bit. “Tell me about my mum.”

He laughed tiredly. “You’re a lot like her.” Swallowing the last of his cheese, he laid back on the cot, pulling her with him onto his chest. “Very brave. Also very pretty.” His fingers worked tangles from the ringlets down her back. “And more than a little bossy,” he growled into her hair. “Like someone else I know.”

She giggled, and the sound eased him. Some nights he laid awake, worried that he wasn’t doing right by her. So young, and she already knew too much about being quiet, about hiding, and how to stay out of sight and out of trouble until he came back. He couldn't take her everywhere. The work he did was far too dangerous, but he couldn’t stop.  _He_  was too dangerous for her, but she had no one else. She was only four, and never looked at him or Justice with fear, though maybe she should have. There were years yet for her to manifest magic, and if she did, it was more important than ever for them to finish what they came here to do.

Elyssa wiggled around until she was tucked into the crook of his arm. “Did you love her?”

He thought quietly for a long time. Ever since she’d left Amaranthine, he’d not had time to think about it. Or he hadn’t let himself have the time. He’d been focused first on the outrage that was Rolan, then on finding Karl, and the heartbreak that followed. Then it was Hawke and her Deep Roads expedition, from which they almost didn’t return. It seemed pointless to think about something that was over so long ago, now, but once she asked, he couldn’t shake it from his mind. 

_It’s probably best if neither of us says it_.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He kissed her temple. “I suppose I did. Now I love you.”

He closed his eyes, letting out his breath, listening to the steady thrum of her little heart, soaking up the warmth of her against his side. It was possible he needed her more than she needed him. 

Something creaked by the entrance and he stiffened. His jaw clenched, the unmistakable feeling of Justice rising to the surface as his muscles coiled. He carefully settled her onto the cot before grabbing his staff and rolling noiselessly to his feet.

He clutched the staff in both hands as he crept out of the back room. His voice boomed low, laced with the echoey tones of Justice. “You trespass where you do not have the right.” Lifting the staff over his shoulder, he readied himself to swing it.

“Anders!” Dany held up both hands. “Justice. It’s me.” She didn’t advance, but held up a parcel to show him. Her grin was wide and toothy. “And food.”

He breathed out with relief, the cracks of his skin closing and shoulders slumping. The collar of his shirt hung wide open, showing the lines of his sternum. “Hawke. You startled me.”

“I noticed.” She tried to smile, though Justice always made her a little jumpy. Jumpy rogues had jumpy blades and he considered a win she didn’t pull one on him. “Hope I didn’t wake you. I brought you two some things.” She backed towards one of the clinic tables, setting the basket on it. “Mother says you look skinny, and that Elyssa is too small.”

It took him a few minutes to answer, not quite understanding what she said as Justice receded again. “Her mother was small,” he managed distantly. He shook his head. “Leandra sent food?”

Dany shrugged. “She’s a mother. What can I say?”

He ran a hand over his hair. “Tell her thank you.”

“You could tell her yourself if you’d take us up on our offer.”

This again. “We’re okay, Hawke.”

She half-smiled and got a little closer, reaching a hand to squeeze his arm. He pulled out of her reach before she could, though it didn’t dim her demeanor. “I worry about you two down here. With the templars looking for you. I do what I can, and Varric, too, but it’d be easier if I knew where you were.”

“Dany, you can’t keep us--”

“Dany!” Elyssa squealed, padding across the clinic floor in her bare feet and making Anders cringe again. 

Dany held her arms out for her, pulling her up into her lap as she scooted back onto the table. “Hey there, Squirt.” She smoothed curls out of Elyssa’s eyes, hugging her tightly. “Taking good care of your father?”

She nodded excitedly. “I made sure he ate. Just like you said.”

Anders groaned and started arranging bottles on a shelf. “I’m never going to get her to sleep at this rate.”

Dany’s long eyes crinkled. “Move in with us. Let mother help.” She grabbed Elyssay’s toes and wiggled them, making her squirm and laugh. “She even likes scrubbing little piggy feet.  It’s the least we can do after you saved Bethany’s life.”

His jaw clenched. “What does  _Sebastian_  think of that?”

Dany made the sound of someone weary with an argument. They’d already gone several rounds on this topic. “He’ll think what I tell him to think.” She considered her words carefully, resting her chin lightly on Elyssa’s head. “You can’t live down here with her. He agrees with me.”

The distaste at the thought of her discussing his situation with Sebastian felt like it could be physically spit out. “Plenty of people do it, Hawke.” Purposefully unclenching his jaw, he looked at her. “Just because it doesn’t live up to the high standards of Starkhaven doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“But I can help you.” Rubbing her hand briskly over Elyssa’s back, she curled forward a little to talk into her ear, conspiratorially. “What do you think, Squirt? You want to come stay at my house?”

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Can we, Papa?”

“Anders. It’s safer. The templars aren’t going to come knocking.” She lifted Elyssa up in both hands and grinned at her. “And we have a great bannister for sliding down.” Elyssa squealed again, reaching for and wrapping gangly arms around Dany’s neck. “It’s not charity. You’ve helped us so much.”

Scrubbing his face, he relented. “Fine. We can try it out.”

“Good! I’ll wait while you pack.” She tapped a rhythmic pattern on Elyssa’s belly with both hands. “You hear that? Go get your things, Squirt!” She let her down from her lap, smiling wide as the girl ran off.

“Hawke,” he started, his voice tired. 

“You don’t have to do everything yourself. We’re friends. Let me help.”

“Yeah.” He pulled to standing, retying his hair back. “I guess.” The sigh dumped out of him, his shoulders slumping as if his resistence had been holding him upright. “Thanks, Hawke. I’ll get a few things.”

 

#

 

_9:36 Dragon, Kirkwall_

 

He wrote until he was cross-eyed. The words began to bleed together on the page. His usually tight script began to wander up the page. Finally, after swearing at it for a time, Anders set the quill aside and rubbed his face. He stood, stretching his back and listening to the unpleasant crackle of one joint that had been roughed up too many times by too many templars. He glanced over, as if he’d forgotten Elyssa was sleeping, blinking into the reality of the room around him again. He checked the blanket, making sure it was pulled over her. 

Just because they’d been invited to live in Hawke’s home didn’t mean they would be exhausting that hospitality. She was small enough yet, and he didn’t sleep as much as he probably should have. One room and one bed suited them fine.

Wearily, he sighed, and crept out of the room, leaving the door ajar just in case she woke. 

He dodged the dog on the stairs as he made his way down to one of the stiffer chairs. From under it he pulled a sewing basket. It had been Leandra’s, but now that she was gone, it sat mostly unused, and no one seemed to mind him claiming it. His eyes burned from fatigue, but he continued mending the bottom of Elyssa’s shirt. She’d shot nearly out of it and he’d noticed a few days ago that her belly stuck out of the bottom. To make it last a little longer, he cut a few inches from the bottom of his own shirt, and began adding it to the hem.

He worked, so focused that he didn’t hear Sebastian enter from another room. “How long do you think this is going to work for you, Anders?”

He didn’t look up, focusing on keeping the stitches even. “You’re going to have to be more specific.” With Sebastian, it could have been anything. 

“Any of this, really. Running, watching over your shoulder. How good do you think it is for a child to live in such a manner?”

“Because you know so much about raising children, do you?”

Sebastian made a sound in his throat which wasn’t entirely disagreeable. “Fair enough, Anders. However, eventually you will run out of shirt of your own. Then what will you do?”

Anders sighed. “If you have something to say, Highness, it’d be easier on my tired mind if you’d just say it.”

He sat in another one of the armchairs and faced Anders. “We are not leading particularly stable lives. Nor safe ones.” 

If the room had actually iced over it might have been warmer. “And here I thought everything was sunshine and kittens. Clearly I’ve been living under a rock.”

“More like a dank tunnel in Darktown.” He sat back in the chair, stroking his chin. “Do you not think you are being unfair to your child? That she might be better off in a more stable place?” 

“Meaning?”

Sebastian tapped fingers on the arm of the chair for a few moments, as if unsure how to continue. If he ever kept opinions to himself Anders would eat the shirt he was mending. “The Chantry would gladly provide for her.”

“No.” That was the end of it, in his mind.

“I merely think for her benefit you should give it some consid--”

“I said no.” He stood up, clutching the shirt in his hand. “You haven’t been listening at all, have you?”

“Now, Anders, it was not my intent to upset you.”

“Void with your intentions.” He sliced a hand through the air. “I didn’t escape the Circle, and do everything I have only to turn my own daughter over to the Chantry because it’s  _too hard_.”

“No one is questioning your work ethic. I merely beg you not to be selfish about this.”

“Selfish?” His nostrils flared as he stared at Sebastian, gritting his teeth, willing Justice not to join the conversation. A deeper tone laced with his own voice. “Do not speak to me about my daughter  _ever_  again. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly, Anders.”

He barely heard him as he stormed his way up the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

_9:37 Dragon, Kirkwall_

 

The sun reflected off the stones brightly, warming them on a rare sunny day for the season. It was well warmer than any Fereldan season, but there was still a chill bite to the morning air. He knew he’d acclimated to the warmer weather when he shivered in his jacket and pulled his hood more tightly. He was thinner now than he had been with the Wardens, of course. Kirkwall had been home for some time, but it never really felt like it. It didn’t matter. Not now. It wouldn’t be much longer.

“What’s she doing?” Bethany, ruck over her shoulder and clad in her blues, squinted. Elyssa ran ahead and stooped down, her new butter yellow scarf from Bethany pooling on the ground next to her as she did.

They both paused and watched her. He’d offered to escort her to catch her ship out. 

“She’s really sweet, Anders.”

“Thanks. I mean, clearly it’s inherited.”

Bethany giggled a little. She was still the optimistic girl he’d met when the Hawkes had been three and they’d just come to Kirkwall, but the Wardens had changed her. Disgruntled as he was, he had to admit they’d done her a lot of good. Never a weak fighter, she’d honed and refined her skills, and when she grasped power from the Fade it shuddered. 

“Oh, very obviously.” She nodded slowly with false seriousness, one eyebrow lifted. “You, through and through. I can tell by her sunny disposition.”

“That attitude will take you far in the Wardens.” He snorted, and after so long, it wasn’t entirely bitter anymore. Which felt good. It was one less angry tether. He craned his neck as Elyssa darted down a set of steps. “Stay where we can see you.” His heart hammered too hard as she slipped out of sight. Letting go a little was proving to be more difficult than he liked.

“Okay!” Down the steps she went, the sounds of her shoes as she jumped each one making a gentle  _clack_.

“She’s really clever. A little too clever. But generally good.”

“Now that is like you. You’re a lucky man, Anders.” 

He ran a hand over his hair. The chuckle died in his lungs. “That’s one way to put it.”

If Bethany was alarmed, she managed to not show it, and squeezed his arm instead.

“The Wardens are treating you well then? No special templars to be your best friend by force?”

She laughed a little. “No. Nothing like that. Weisshaupt isn’t so bad, really. Huge, but the library is fantastic.” She glanced at him momentarily, then ahead as they moved down the stairs with a hustle. “Books on magic I never knew existed.”

Palpable relief settled over Anders when they caught sight of Elyssa again. “Be careful. They take that “whatever necessary” thing pretty seriously.”

“I’ve noticed. It’s nice to not have to look over my shoulder all the time anymore, though.”

The hardened expression on his face had nothing to do with Justice, then. “Don’t let them fool you. You’re just a tool to do a job. They’ll turn on you as quickly as anyone.”

“I’m careful, Anders. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“No. I suppose not.” 

“Actually, I met the Hero of Ferelden.”

All of his attention focused on her fully, not really believing what he’d heard. “At Weisshaupt?”

She nodded. “Helped me learn to fight without magic. The really brutal way.”

“Huh. Well, isn’t that something.” He almost chuckled. “Brutal sounds about right. Probably good for you, I guess. Just in case.” His knees creaked a little as he crouched down to catch Elyssa as she barrelled into him. “No one stays young and innocent.” 

“As I understand it,” she started with that sing-song way she had for gossip, “she’s being sent to another outpost. A twilight posting, they called it.”

“Mmm.” He smoothed back some of Elyssa’s hair and tucked it back into her scarf. “What have you there?”

Elyssa held up two fists full of seagull feathers. “For you. For your collection.”

His eyes tightened a little, mimicking the twisting in his chest. “Thank you. We’ll take them…” He turned at a clank of plate, reflexively clenching his jaw and tightening his fingers on Elyssa. “You’d better get to your ship,” he said lowly to Bethany. The templar moved from person to person, canvassing the crowd with a pamphlet. “Maker watch over you.”

Bethany followed his eyes, then nodded down at him. “You also, Anders.”

_It’s too late for me_ , he thought bitterly as he lifted Elyssa off the ground and headed for the stairs away from the pier. 

 

#

 

“No way, Blondie. I’m not taking that pillow.” Varric laughed him off, even though Anders thought he saw a hint of worry on his face. “Why don’t you give it to that beautiful little brunette always making wide eyes at you? At least that way you can both have plenty of dreams of killing templars.”

Anders turned and looked to the corner of Varric’s room where Merrill sat on a table, braiding flowers into Elyssa’s hair while Bela leaned far back in a chair with her feet up on the table. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the contents of the story Bela was telling her that had her attention so intently held. “Yeah. About that.”

“What’s on your mind, Blondie?” Varric slid a cup towards him, which he declined.

“I need someone to take her.”

“You got somewhere to be? You can drop her here for a little bit. At least she appreciates my stories.”

He rubbed his eyes with fingertips, trying to remember when he last slept. “No. Not for a little bit.” His breath let out slow and deep.

_You do not wish to do this, Anders._

_What choice do we have?_

_You must at least tell her._

_She wouldn’t understand. She’s a_ child _._

_You do not believe that._

_Sometimes I really dislike you knowing my thoughts._  

“What do you mean?” Varric flattened both palms on the table and frowned. 

“I mean it needs to be permanent. I can’t do this anymore.”

“You look like a proper little princess, sweetling.” Isabela held Elyssa’s chin with a thumb and forefinger, wiggling her face. 

She stood up on the table and pulled the sides of her shirt wide, curtsying first to Merrill, then to Isabela. “Why thank you, my lady. You flatter me.” She covered her mouth with both hands and giggled.

“With a sweet face like that, you’d be the most dangerous adversary. No one would expect your blade in them.”

“Not happening, Blondie.” Varric shook a finger at him. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. That little girl is happy.”

Giving up, Anders let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Thanks, Varric. I’ll keep that in mind.” He held a hand out to help Elyssa down from the table. “Let’s go, Highness, before the guard finds us out too late.”

She gripped his hand tight and swung oh his arm. “I’m not scared of them.”

The smile that touched his lips faded almost instantly. “You’re a very brave girl.” He waited as patiently as he could while she hopped down the Hanged Man stairs one at a time. 

“Just like you.” 

He clenched his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. “Good. You’ll need that.”

 

#

 

“I don’t understand.” Lirene’s eyes followed Elyssa as she plopped down in the back of the little shop like she had so many times. The store cat batted at a string that dangled from the cuff of her shirt, and she danced it just out of reach, making the animal stretch up. “Where are you going?”

He traced a finger over a worn knot in the wood of the counter. “It’s better if I don’t say.” He set the small bag down and took a deep breath. “There should be enough coin in there to get you out of here. Just in case.”

“In case what?” Grabbing his forearms, she shook him once to get him to look at her. “Are you in trouble?”

“Look. Lirene. You’ve helped me out a lot. I really--”

“Can’t say. Okay. Okay.” She took a step back and opened the bag, looking through the contents. 

“I’ve made arrangements with a contact for a safehouse.” He looked at her very seriously. “You wait no more than three days. Then you move on. Even if I don’t show up.”

“And go where?”

“There’s a map with approximate locations. A list of phrases to get you in. Memorise them. Don’t keep the list.”

“Anders. I can’t do this.”

“You have to. This is not up for discussion. I don’t have anyone else.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he pushed back hard against Justice. “Neither does she.”

If she meant to argue with him more, she covered it with a sad smile. “Alright.” She lifted the passage to the counter to let him through. 

He held up both hands, looking the other way. “No. I think it’s best if I just go.”

“You’re not going to say goodbye?” she whispered in surprise.

_We can not just leave without telling her, Anders_. 

Clenching his eyes, he shook his head. “I can’t.”

Her voice took on a menacing tone he’d only rarely heard, and never at him. “You go say goodbye, right now. Or I won’t do it.”

His face fell, and he nodded. Ducking under the passthrough, he walked slowly over to Elyssa, settling on the floor next to her. The cat sniffed his fingers, the circled around her, away from him. “Hey, sweetheart.”

There was a smile in her eyes when she searched his face. “You’re going away.”

His stomach knotted. A Fade spirit didn’t really need to eat, and didn’t understand hunger. Apparently he’d missed a meal. Which was probably for the best, when he thought of it. “I am. How’d you know?”

“I’m six. I’m not stupid.”

“No. No you’re not.” He stayed silent, memorizing the deep tone of her skin and the way her dark curls brushed her cheeks. “I have to take care of something important.”

Elyssa picked up the cat, who immediately went limp, giving up hopes of getting away. “Okay.”

“Hey.” He turned her chin until her face met his. He always expected to see slightly mismatched eyes like her mother's, not a wide pair like his own, looking back. “You’re a good girl. Help Lirene, okay?” He let out a hard breath. “And I’ll see you soon.”

“You lie bad.”

“I know.”

Pressing his lips to her forehead, he closed his eyes tightly. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. He sat back on his heels for a long time, quietly. “Hey, sweetheart. You know that papa--”

“Papa,” she interrupted and patted his cheek, “it’s better if we don’t say it.”

 

#

 

There was sound and then there wasn’t. Cacophony and then a silence so loud his ears rang and his heart thundered. He and Justice were one, they’d done what they’d come to do, and then he receded. Gone. At first it felt like he was choking with the absence. He could feel him still there, that too-full feeling of sharing his body with another being. It had been so many years he couldn't remember what it was like before.

Then the sound all came rushing back at once, slamming against him like a breath let out he forgot he’d been holding. That was it. It was done. Slowly Sebastian’s words trickled into his ears.

“I swear to you I will kill him.”

He had no strength to move, no will to stop it.  _Please, don’t let it be him_.

It didn’t matter. He’d take whatever justice was dealt him.

He sank onto the crate, tired, unaware that anyone was talking. Ready. No thought other than a sense of completion. Now, it couldn’t be ignored. Years of trying and clawing and begging for someone to listen. Someone to help.

He made them listen.

“How could you?” His head flopped as Dany -- he thought it was Dany, he hoped it was Dany -- shook him by the front of his coat. She was shouting. Of course she was shouting. All the brightness and ease gone from her. “You lying bastard. I trusted you. I would have--”

He waved a hand, dazedly. “No. No, Hawke. You wouldn’t have. I needed you not to know. So it was all on me.”

“Hawke. Either you do it, or I will.” 

Dany rounded on Sebastian, to Anders’ surprise putting herself between them with a dagger in her hand. “If you want him dead so badly, you do it. But  _I’m_  not going to orphan a little girl. Are you?”

“How can you--” Sebastian cut himself off, nostrils flaring.

With strong fingers, Dany yanked Anders to his feet, growling through her teeth. “You are damned lucky I love that little girl. You run. You run to her, and you get out of here.” She pushed a small purse in his hand before shoving him away. “If I ever see you again, Sebastian won’t have to kill you.”

He blinked. “You’re not…” The haze cleared too slowly. Every reactive instinct in him told him that he should be anticipating. Running. Moving. “You’re letting me go? But I…”

“Get out of here before I change my mind.”

“Hawke,” he started, beginning to pull himself together, “thank you.”

Her laugh was frantic as it rose to a pitch. “Don’t you dare thank me while I’m cleaning up your mess.”

He jerked a single nod, still not completely aware of what was going on, the air feeling like he was moving through water as he fled.

 

#

 

_9:38 Dragon, somewhere near the Tevinter/Anderfels border_

 

Dark began to settle. They’d passed a small village not long ago, and Anders considered doubling back. The risk of running into a couple of blightwolves was, in his mind, worth being able to sleep in a bed. He lead the horse over the rocky pass, which didn’t quite work into a mountain, but wasn’t exactly flatland either. The downside was their horse possibly throwing a shoe and leaving them without one.

One hand rested on the plane of Elyssa’s back as he pulled them about, judging as best he could by the few stars at twilight. “Not too far, sweetheart.”

Elyssa reached forward, hugging her arms around the neck of the draft horse. Hawke’s money hadn’t gotten them far, but it had helped in trading healing for things they desperately needed. “I’m hungry.”

“I know. We’ll get something back in town.” He patted her back gently, and started the descent down the path. “Unless you want to try hunting again.” 

Smiling at him, she shook her head. “The bow hurt my arm.”

“It’ll do that. Until you get the hang of it.” He smiled a little tiredly. “But fortunately, I heard you know a good healer.”

She giggled.

In the months after Kirkwall, that sound had been a vital part to going on. He wanted to give up. Before he’d tracked her and Lirene down he’d considered ending his own life. 

That was when Justice came back.

If the spirit hadn’t bullied him into it, he might have laid down and just stopped living. Justice pushed him. The first few weeks had been touch and go, but every time Elyssa tucked herself into his side and stroked his hair while humming, he clung to her life and held on.

He couldn’t help wonder if Sebastian had been right, years ago. That he wasn’t thinking about what was best for her. The only thing he knew for certain was they were all each other had, and the Chantry was no place for either of them.

The dim glow of lamps from the town lit the distance and he picked up their pace.

She sighed softly, the sounds of drifting to sleep. 

A twig snapped.

Anders froze. Warden senses would have alerted him to blightwolves. The Fade rippled around him. 

The world flashed in front of him, his skin crackling, though he fought to keep it pushed back. Magic thrown too soon and he risked unnecessary exposure. Too late and… well too late was too late.

“Stand down. What’s your name?”

There were only two of them. One in lighter plate. A hunter, ready for pursuit if they fled. The other’s sword stood cruciform over his shoulder. “Zeke. My daughter is Hilde. We are simple travelers looking for lodging.” His Anders was rusty, and the templars seemed to notice. 

Eyes from under a helm scrutinized him. “We’ll escort you into the town. The Chantry would be happy to put you up for the night.

“I don’t remember a chantry in the village.” Anders gripped his hand over the bridle of the horse. 

One looked at the other and nodded. “You need to come with us.”

Elyssa gripped his hand. He could hear her breath shudder, but to her credit she didn’t so much as whimper.

“Have we committed some sort of offense?” His staff was fastened to the horse. He didn’t necessarily need it, but he hovered close anyhow, fingers working it loose.

“Reports of an apostate heading this direction.” The larger templar glanced up at Elyssa. “Traveling with a child.”

“Neither of you will be hurt if you come quietly.”

It was then that the pair of manacles hanging at the hunter’s waist caught a reflection of the moon. “I don’t think so.” In one motion he had the staff in his hand and smacked the rear of the horse just enough to make it start moving. Elyssa held tight around the neck, her screech rising. Without too much effort, she grabbed the reins and managed to steer the animal before it ran wild. 

The Fade rippled again, both as Anders pulled from it and the hunter tried to disrupt it. It snapped back with the force of a leather strap that had broken while under strain. It took the breath from his chest and the spark from the tips of his fingers.

He swung out with his staff, barely missing the larger of the two men, making him step back to clear the arc. The next movement, the templar had his sword in his hands.

The nice part about templars, if he could say there were nice parts, was the plate. The cracks in his skin opened as he skipped back to buy himself room, pulling his hands upward from the ground, pushing them to the sky. Lightning arced out, striking the sword bearing one before he could get closer. The smell of damp copper filled the air as the templar began to twitch. He caught the word  _abomination_  just before a second tug of the Fade knocked him back harder, followed by a launch of a crossbow, the first snagging his cloak as he hit the ground on his rear. The second caught his upper arm, tearing through flesh and making him swear.

“Papa, no!” Flickers of light still danced on the ground as her footfalls drew closer.

“Lyss, get out of here,” he growled, pushing to get up.

She shrieked when the templar pulled his arm back to strike him. Anders kicked out hard, taking the man in the shin. He dropped his bow, which launched off another bolt out into the night. 

“No!” Elyssa shrieked, the sound echoing out over the steppe. She shoved at him and Anders felt the Fade around them tug abruptly. First a spark and then a flame bursting from her hands and catching him on fire.

The surprised reaction was just enough for Anders to grab his staff again, swinging it around fast and connecting with the front of the man’s help. It bent in, crushing against his face as he made a choked sound.

Elyssa skittered back, shaking her hands and screaming, her whole body trembling.

Anders brought the staff down on him again, and once more, until gurgles were audible and he could tell the man was choking. 

“Lyss, turn around.”

She was sobbing, gulping for air, but she listened. As soon as she did, he gripped the templar around the neck and twisted. The snap made her shriek again, and for a few moments he stood, shaking and staring at the men on the ground, murmuring to himself as he tried to ease Justice back.

Then he moved. Anders sunk to his knees, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly to him. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s over. I’ve got you.” He kissed the top of her head over and over as he reassured her. 

She clutched to him, tears streaming until she hiccuped.

It took a few minutes to realise he was shaking, too as he caught her hands. “You did magic.” His laugh shuddered over what otherwise would have been a choked sob. “My daughter did magic. You saved our lives.” 

The palms and fingertips were swollen and blistered with scortches. He took a deep breath, pulling at whatever fringes of the Fade he could reach, begging Justice to help him connect. Slowly, the glow lit his fingers, and he focused, channeling the magic into her skin.

The burns soothed away, and he finished by smoothing a cool thumb over her cheek, wiping away the dusty tears. He curled a hand over both of hers and kissed her forehead. “We’ll get better at this. I promise.” 

“You’ll teach me?”

“I will. Everything I know.”

“Is that a lot?”

“Is that a… you think you’re funny.” He growled into her hair and hugged her, picking her up as he stood, stiffly. “What do you say we look for that horse, huh?”

She nodded, gripping her arms around his neck.

 

 

 


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: I posted this, and then rethought the ending. Apologies, but I think it works better.

_9:38 Dragon, somewhere west of Nordbotten_

 

The small apartment at the top of the tower wasn’t anything to write home about. That was probably its best feature, since Kahrin rarely wrote home anymore. She did now, sitting at the tiny table on one of a pair of well-mended chairs. The letter to Fergus would go in a packet to be given to whichever Warden came to check on her in the next few weeks, though she didn’t expect any reply. She wasn’t even certain her correspondence wasn’t stopped at the Fereldan border. When she’d first arrived at Weisshaupt, she’d written straight away to both Fergus and Bann Teagan. She never heard back from either of them.

In the weeks that followed she mourned. She mourned the passing of her daughter. That, in her mind, was the only reason no one would give her any news. She also mourned the loss of the home she’d fought for only to lose it to her own folly. She mourned Anders as well, but more quietly. It steeled her. With nothing to look back to, she better focused on what was in front of her.

That had been her Grey Warden training. With no ties to anything outside of the Wardens any longer she poured herself into it tirelessly. The skills she’d picked up during the Blight became valuable tools to pass on, and to her surprise many of the junior members of the order sought her out. It had been a good way to spend a few years.

Grey Warden bodies wore away over time, faster than others. The strength and prowess gained was a temporary high which exacted a toll. That toll eventually had to be paid, and Kahrin could feel herself slow. Which was how she’d come to be assigned a remote outpost, alone.

It was a nice posting, all told. The most she ever dealt with were rare stragglers of darkspawn, two or three at most at a time, or the random stranger who needed to be pointed in a better direction. Pilgrims seeking The Merdine, refugees lost without maps, and the occasional criminal on the run. Those she stayed away from. They were not Warden business.

Mostly she kept a log of events, which mainly meant tracking the weather -- something she’d learned to do quickly -- and mended the furniture or other parts of her quiet home. 

Each window faced one compass point, and each window she checked as she made her way around the room, the stones of the floor worn smooth from age and endless treading. She made a note of lightning in the distance, dancing in glorious, welcomed, colour across an otherwise dark and bleak sky. It seemed a little out of place with what she knew was an approaching dust storm, but she didn’t question it. Only noted in the log that it came in from the east. 

She washed her face in the basin, then checked all of her earthen jugs to see how much water remained. Only one was full, so the other two needed to be lugged down to the well and filled before the storm came. Methodically she dressed, something she could do without even being fully awake. She’d worn the same clothes now for seven years. It was as easy as living in her skin. Her hair had been the one vice she’d allowed herself to keep, letting it grow past her hips as she always had. Without looking, she braided it, then slowly coiled it up onto the base of her head and fastened it in place. Smart. Sharp. The very picture of a Warden.

A jug in each hand and swords on her back, she descended the spiral stairs down the outside of the tower. They slanted from settling, and were worn glossy from years of use and sand blowing against them. Even her small feet had to turn to the side to make the trip. 

The winch was just a little too high for her, though she was still able to use it. It stuck, every time, about half way up, causing her to need to throw her entire weight against it and hang slightly. By the third trip of the bucket, she knew it was going to need repairing after the storm passed. The wind began to pick up, making the spout of water wobble as she poured the bucket into the jugs.

She stretched, then rolled her shoulders, picking the jugs up again to start the trip back up the stairs. Out on the horizon the silhouette of two people walking caught her eye, rippling in the haze of the heat, despite the wind. 

Setting the jugs down, close to the well, she walked in the direction of the travelers. 

“You need to turn back!” she called. When no one replied, she repeated herself. “Turn back! There’s darkspawn in this area.” Which wasn’t true. She’d know, but the average traveler didn’t know that.

“No there isn’t.” The travelers got a little closer as she squinted to see better.

Brow twisting her tattoo in confusion, she frowned. “I’m a Grey Warden, and I’m telling you to turn back. You’re in danger of darkspawn attack.”

“If there were darkspawn here, sweetheart, I’d know.”

They stopped walking, the taller of the two leaning down to the shorter -- a small child by the looks of it.

“What? How is that--”

The buzzing. The faint tugging of her blood. It wasn’t unusual for Wardens to be in this area. They unofficially controlled the Anderfels. The flip way he addressed her, though, that was notable. Familiar.

Kahrin started walking again in their direction. “What’s your name, Warden?” They got a little closer, where she could make out their appearances a little better. Their faces were wrapped in scarves clearly meant to protect them from the dust, pulled down for the moment. The child held onto the man’s hand. 

“I’m Zeke, and this is my daughter, Hilde.” He stopped walking and pulled the scarf off of his head. He was thinner, but the angles of his face were recognisable. “You can call me Anders. That’s what my friends use.”

Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it was up in her throat. She had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn’t imagining things, that he wasn’t a mirage. “And that includes me, then?” Her eyes flicked to the child who was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“I hope so.” He ran one hand over his hair, blown and sticking up from the wind. “I’d like to find out.” He hugged an arm around the child, who pulled the scarf down from her own face. “We’d make devastatingly lovely children.” 

“Are you my mum?” The girl's long braid that flapped around as the wind came in gusts. 

There was almost nothing to hear as the world focused down on the girl. Her round face, while slightly gaunt, could have been a reflection of Kahrin’s own when she was young. “Elyssa?”

The girl pulled free from Anders’ grasp and started running. He lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “Oh, hey. We did that already.”

She moved the last few yards between them. Elyssa barreled into her with an  _oof_  and wrapped her arms tightly around her. She couldn’t tear her eyes from Anders as she numbly laid her hands on the girls head.  Shaking, she sank to her knees, her eyes wide as they met Elyssa’s. Set in the middle of her face were familiar, warm, amber brown eyes. “I thought… I thought you… how?” The last she directed at Anders, looking up, and only realising when he wavered in her vision that she was crying.

Anders laid a hand on Elyssa’s head. “I was in Kirkwall. Someone named Teagan brought her to me. Through the Collective, with his nephew.”

She hadn’t thought of Connor in years. She wouldn’t think about him now, though. Her hands cupped both of Elyssa’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. “Look at you. You’re perfect. You’re just perfect.”

Elyssa put both hands on Kahrin’s shoulders. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

She choked a laugh through the sob that had closed her throat. “Maker take me.” She covered her mouth with a hand. “What are you doing here?”

“We were in the neighborhood.”

She reached over and shoved at him halfheartedly. Her fingers ran over Elyssa’s hair, then caught one of her hands, bringing it to her mouth and kissing the knuckles. “There was some thing in Kirkwall, right? After the invasion?” The wind picked up again, pulling strands from her bun. She looked out over the horizon, the tendrils of the storm starting off in the distance. “Something with the Chantry?”

“That… is one way to put it.” He walked towards the well, picking up one of the jugs and nodding towards the tower. “Maybe we could… go inside. Catch up.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the impending storm. “Unless you have somewhere to be. If we’re intruding, we could just go.”  

Standing, she pulled Elyssa into her arms, the smile on her face softened when she looked at him. “You’re not. I don’t have anywhere to be.” 

She reached her other hand to pick up the other jug, but Anders stopped her. “Let me?”

It could have been almost a decade ago, the way the side of his mouth turned up just a little, like he had a secret, if not for the creases around his eyes, the circles under them, and the grey at both of their temples.

Or the little girl leaning her head on her shoulder. “Can we all have tea? I like tea.” 

Kahrin watched Anders as he started up the stairs, slowly, then turned and inhaled their daughter’s hair. “You do? I like tea, too.”

“I left my favorite cup at Dany’s.”

She smiled, starting up the stairs. “You’ll have to tell me all about Dany.”

“Papa made her angry.”

“You can tell me all about that, too.”

From the top of the stairs, Anders yelled down. “Gossiping about me already?”

“My life has been really boring for a while. I’m just caught up in the excitement.”

He set the jugs inside the door, then brushed a tear away from her cheek with his thumb, cupping her jaw in his hand. “I know,” he murmured quietly.

They looked at one another for a few minutes, silently. He turned her face way up and leaned down towards her, brushing her lips with his and closing his eyes with a soft hum. It was barely a heartbeat, then he straightened up, leaving her leaning up with barely parted lips. He straightened up as a gust of wind caught them.

“Let’s get inside and board the door. We’re going to have a long time to talk.”

“Good. I hope so.” He let out a shaky breath, still stroking her face. "I really do."

He waited while she set Elyssa down, who eagerly tugged them both by their hands, then shut the door behind them.


End file.
